


Unfortunate Realities

by viktorstardust



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Crying, Depression, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Hurt and comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infidelity, Jake Centric, Loveless Marriages, Multi, Oc for plot, Panic Attacks, Post-Squip, Rating May Change, Suicidal Thoughts, alchohol abuse, alchoholism, as in everyone's in their 30s now, domestic abuse, i just need soft boys, i mean clearly, in the beginning it's very jake centric but it might become rich centric later, jakey d has a wife but its not a good relationship, like reeeally post squip, soft men, suicide note, this is a richjake fic first and foremost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 09:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12187461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viktorstardust/pseuds/viktorstardust
Summary: Seventeen years after the SQUIP incident and seventeen years after Jake pushes his friends away, he runs into a face he insists he never wanted to see again. But Jake Dillinger has never been that good of a liar, not even to himself.





	1. The Grind

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

  
Jake looked up. Six in the morning. Miraculously, he'd actually woken up with the alarm for the first time in months. If the little machine could talk, it'd probably say "I'm proud of you, Jake."  
How he'd love for something, even an inanimate object to say it was proud of him.

  
Whatever. Time to start the grind.

  
He got up, careful not to stir the woman in the king sized bed who once slept next to him, facing the opposite way, like she always did. At a time, when they were in college, she'd cuddle up to him and hold him like she was made for it. Nowadays Gemma barely even touched him. It was a depressing reality, that of a loveless marriage. They had no kids, and they never would as long as she stared at him with such aloofness. They were only 35 years old and they were both trapped in endless cycles of tired routine. He'd resolved to file for divorce, but that was over a year ago. In one month, he told himself, he'd ask for a divorce. No, okay, the next month. No, a few months. Fine then, someday. Someday he'd be a bachelor again. Someday he'd find a woman, no, a person he wouldn't fall out of love with quicker than he fell in love with them. Someday he'd leave Jersey. Someday he'd find purpose. Someday, someday, someday.

  
He stopped his musing, shaking his head until it ached to get the screaming thoughts out of his mind, pointless thoughts that he'd never act on. Jake walked downstairs to make his usual cup of coffee. He hated that shit, it tasted bad and it made his hands shake like he was addicted to the stuff. He kind of was, but only because he needed the caffeine to function.

  
He was an exceedingly successful business man, most men would kill to even call themselves moderately successful. But Jake didn't need it, so he didn't want it. The big house, the gorgeous yard, the uptight neighbors. It was all too big. Too empty. It reminded him of his childhood home, with his parents always away, having to fend for himself in the suffocating quiet. He remembered the silence and how it pained him, especially on holidays. Where his friends were spending time with their family, opening gifts and sharing laughs, and Jake was cooking ramen for himself and insisting to the cops that he didn't know where his mom and dad were. It was quiet in this house, too. Gemma provided no comfort and no words, just empty gazes at her shitty romance novels at the kitchen table where she sat everyday when he got home from work.

  
Those thoughts again. Jake shut his eyes and resisted the urge to punch the Keurig in two. Anything to distract him from this. His thoughts were constantly racing, mostly about his depressing past and his even more depressing present. At work, it was no trouble forgetting about this shit. He was busy there, his mind had important things to do and important things to think about, things that weren't based around New Jersey and his history there. He sometimes sat in his Volvo, contemplating just hitting the gas and driving somewhere, somewhere that didn't remind him of the wreck he'd become.

  
He drank his coffee black and tossed the cup into the sink haphazardly. If it broke, it broke. They had enough money to buy a million cups, but not enough money to make him give a shit. He dressed in his work clothes, made sure all of his papers were in his briefcase and made his way out the door into the early morning air.  
He checked his watch. It was only 6:20. He had over two hours before he was due at the business firm. Another two hours with his thoughts would take him there anyway, so he pulled away from his picturesque suburban house to drive to the next town over, Middle Borough. Back in high school, he hoped the thirty year old him would be as far from that dump as possible. But not even success could pull Jake Dillinger away from this town, no matter how much he hated it.

  
In only fifteen minutes, he was driving back down those familiar roads, roads that never changed, just like the faces never changed. It seemed that no one who lived in this town could escape it. Jake didn't feel so alone in that regard.  
He drove past the high school, the kids should've been up about that time, too. Despite how much he hated his childhood, Jake had a frankly amazing and rare high school experience. He was popular. Beloved. He felt the warm glow of what it was like to be untouchable. He did decent grade wise, so he had plenty of time for friends and extra-curricular activities to distract him from his empty home. Friends that'd probably cancel all of their plans to go to get a drink with him now, even though he hardly kept in touch with any of them. He wondered why he was so cold. Why he didn't want to see any of them. Why he hardened himself to where he could live without friends by the time he was a senior. Why he never wanted to look them in the eyes because none of them were named...

  
Oh.

  
That was why.

  
Jake gripped the wheel with sweaty palms. He was trying to avoid that thought more than any. Halloween night, 2017. The last night he called himself the best friend of Rich Goranski.

  
Fire. Horrible, burning, red-hot fire swallowing his party, his home. He didn't even really care about the house. All it served as was a reminder of his loneliness, how even if he was the most popular guy in school, he'd still be empty sitting there without a dad to talk to him about the football game, without a mom to pry lovingly about his girlfriends. Things normal kids got.

  
No, he certainly didn't care about the house. But he cared about the action. He'd put his trust, everything he was into Rich. No one else, none of his other friends, just him. And the little shit repaid him by burning his home to the ground? He'd cut communication with Rich when he got out of the hospital. Everyone, probably at Rich's request had begged him to understand that it wasn't his fault, that he had some thing (a squid?) telling him what to do and just constant excuses for why he no longer had a house. He'd lost even more friends because of that, Christine went right up to Jake's face and called him an asshole, even though it was HIS house that had burned down. It was HIS legs that had been broken.  It was HIS feelings that he couldn't accept. He shut them all out and focused on school and football. He didn't need friends. He'd lived with silence his entire young life, he could live with it for the rest of his adult life.

  
Those feelings, those very specific feelings that he was afraid of, they were perverse. He'd had them only a handful of times for only one person. He didn't even feel them when he met Gemma and there was still some spark in their relationship. He felt it when he looked into Rich's hazel eyes that stared up at him like he was the only thing in the world. Felt it when he looked over to the bleachers during a game and Rich was the loudest person there, waving handmade signs and screaming his name as loud as he could in support of Jake. Not the football team, Jake. Felt it when he cradled Rich's burning body in his on that heinous Halloween night, holding him as the burns darkened his pale, freckled skin, ruining it forever. Intense, craving feelings and hopes for a long, fruitful future together that were crushed when Jenna sent him a text telling him that the fire had been all Rich's fault.

  
Rich dropped out of school in the first half of senior year and Jake hadn't seen him since. He'd seen his other school mates around town whenever he'd felt possessed to return to Middle Borough, which was often. He saw Jeremy and Michael shopping together, like domestics. He saw Christine's name on the local theater house, she was the leading lady for almost every play. He saw Jenna hitting the town at night with some friends, dressed to go clubbing, chattering about nothing like trashy, loud parrots. He only saw Chloe and Brooke once, because unlike the rest of them, they'd had the good sense to get out of this town. He saw them at a Pinkberry, probably returning for a nostalgic look at the place they grew up in. Apparently they shared a penthouse together in Chicago. Even if it was only once, he saw them. He knew that they were functioning, happy adults with significant others who still smiled when they came home from work. He saw the people that had wanted so desperately for him to let them in, living happy, domestic lives without him.

  
Everyone, of course, except Rich Goranski.

  
He wondered if he should go up, spark a conversation with one of them. Ask them how they'd been since high school, but most importantly, ask about Rich. Not like he even wanted to know for reasons other than curiosity. He just wanted to know where he'd ended up. Nothing more.

  
'Sure, Dillinger, sure.' He thought. 'Let's go with that.'

  
He pulled away from the high school. He saw some over-achieving teachers already heading in before the kids. He hoped halfheartedly that these kids wouldn't make his same mistakes, and sped off, faster than he should have for a school zone.

  
He needed a drink. 


	2. Jack Daniel's, Straight Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Richard Goranski.

Getting a drink was probably a bad idea, considering he had to drive twenty minutes back to his town for work, but the thoughts were too loud to ignore. A glass of whiskey wouldn't kill him. It might loosen him up a bit, let him talk to a bar-goer, though at this time of day, the only people in there were the drunks that ignored the recommended last call. Bars in Middle Borough stayed open 24 hours, so a last call was just a suggestion. Some part of Jake wished he wasn't so important, so he could get wasted and fall asleep in a bar. He was always wishing for things other people had, even if it wasn't much, even if he had more than a drunk ever could have. Jake figured he could be the richest man in the world and still crave something that wasn't his.

  
He stopped in front of a dive bar which he remembered was not too far from his old house. Or, what used to be his old house. Those fucking thoughts.

  
It was certainly a dive, Jake thought as he pushed the opaque glass door open and stepped in. It was a shit hole, very small and clearly old from the way the dark walls were stained with a lifetime's worth of wear and tear. He was right about the drunks. They were spaced out in booths and on the bar, not moving, not making a sound, with almost empty glasses of brown liquor. The bartender could probably kick them out whenever they felt like it, but they knew that this was probably their only home.

  
Jake only drank on occasion, though he thought maybe he should be doing it more if it'd erase the thoughts that screamed around his head all too often. He wished he could go blank for a while, ordering drink after drink and maybe having some fun, maybe meet a girl. He knew that was pretty shitty, infidelity to his wife whose only crime was marrying a man that didn't know he didn't love her, but who knew? Then maybe _she_ would file for divorce and he wouldn't have to keep telling himself 'someday'. He'd hate to kick her out of his house, but if she just got up and left one day, he wouldn't be missing much. Gemma was gorgeous, yes, stunning even. But gorgeous wasn't a good enough reason to be married to somebody. He thought back to his old friends. Brooke and Chloe were already married (he'd gotten an invitation to their wedding in the mail, which of course he balled up and threw in the trash) and if Jeremy and Michael weren't, they'd be soon. Those people were sensible. They married their best friends.

  
Jake wished for only a moment that he'd married his, until he remembered that he abandoned his best friend seventeen years ago.

  
Whiskey. He needed whiskey.

  
He sat at an empty stool, spaced out as far as he could from two tired drunks that sat on the farthest end of both sides of the bar. His eyes watched the one to his left closely. His head faced away, and it appeared that he was still awake from the way he rolled the little bit of brandy around in his glass, probably miserable. Jake had the urge to pat him on the back and tell him it'd be okay, but that'd probably get him cut or something. He didn't associate with these types, that was clear by the professional way he was dressed, still expected in the office in about an hour and thirty minutes. He had time.

  
The bartender saw him and approached him. "What'll it be?"

  
"Jack Daniel's, straight up." He said without missing a beat. He'd taught himself bar etiquette and bar terms for whenever he and Gemma used to go out. They never went out anymore, but Jake still knew what he liked.

  
In less than a minute, the bartender had his drink. He had no other patrons ordering, they were all asleep. He was probably wondering what such a well-dressed man was doing in a dive bar at 7 AM on a Wednesday, but unlike most good bartenders, he didn't pry, and Jake was thankful for that.

  
He took a drink. He didn't necessarily enjoy it, just like he didn't enjoy coffee. But it was the only way he knew to clear his head. Absent parents and the fact that he looked way older than he was made sure that he was a regular drinker by the time he was 18.

  
He wasn't like the guys with their heads on the tables, drooling liquor. He didn't nurse on it, it was just something to make his head swim enough to the point where those frightening thoughts he so often was plagued by would not necessarily stop, but go away once he got bored of them. He was always bored of them, of the little voices in his head telling him about his regrets. He didn't need that. He knew about his regrets. If there was anything Jake Dillinger, former star football player and high school awesomeness personified knew, it was how badly he'd fucked up. It comforted him, though, to know he couldn't fuck up quite as much as the men sitting around him.

  
Speaking of, the drunk on his left stirred a little, but didn't move his head from where it lay in his arms. He grumbled something, then pounded the glass on the bar a little, as if to say he wanted more.

  
The bartender turned from where he was idly cleaning glasses that didn't need to be cleaned. Busy work for someone with no one to talk to and no drinks to make.

  
"Yeah, easy Rich, I'll get you another." He mumbled.

  
Wait...Rich?

  
No, it couldn't be. It was too coincidental that Jake would come to a bar in hopes of escaping that name, and instead find it sleeping in some shitty dive that he hadn't even remembered existed until he was looking for it. It was a common name, and Jake was psyching himself out already, getting his hopes up a little. But for what? He'd kicked the boy from his life in eleventh grade. Why was he so fucking eager for that drunk to rise so he could see a burnt face with hazel eyes, and a little tooth gap and freckles and-  
The drunk sat up, and that was exactly what Jake saw.

  
Sort of.

  
His hazel eyes were surrounded by dark rings, like he hadn't slept since junior year. His dirty blonde hair was messy and hung over his eyes. He used to wear it slicked back, but who was he trying to impress nowadays? His chin had the early stages of a beard, scruffy and unkempt, but not so much that his chin or upper lip were obscured. It was like he shaved, but not recently. The pink burns on his face had healed moderately well, but they were still tight and wrinkled and shiny. He bet he got asked about those a lot.

  
It was definitely Rich Goranski.

  
'Shit.' He thought. 'Shit and fuck and everything in between.'

  
Jake forced himself to look away, focusing his eyes on a suddenly very interesting half empty bottle of vodka. 'Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice m-'

  
"...Jake?"

  
'Fuck.'

  
Jake turned his head, pretending he was surprised to hear that voice. It hadn't changed much, it just got a little deeper. It seemed like he hadn't really changed at all, other than the fact he was a drunk.

  
That was pretty disheartening. When they were teenagers, Rich had confided to him that he never wanted to become like his drunk dad. It was, in fact, one of his former best friend's greatest fears. Jake had only met Rich's dad a handful of times, none of which were pleasant. He knew that his dad sometimes yelled at him or hit him, but he was too afraid to do anything or say anything to anyone that could help in fear of Rich never wanting to speak to him again. How the tables had turned.

  
Jake remembered all the times Rich shyly asked if he could sleep over, nights where he was deathly afraid to go home and confront his dad. Jake had an empty house and Rich had a broken one. It all just seemed to fit. Like they were made for each other. Why, god, did it have to be Rich Goranski sitting to his left?  
"Oh, Rich. Hey." Jake said, trying to fake surprise and apathy at the same time.  
Rich looked probably as mortified as Jake felt. He smoothed back his hair as best as he could and felt the stubble on his chin as if he didn't know he had it. He didn't meet Jake's eyes, staring nervously at the ground but extending his hand as if to shake it. Jake grabbed it and shook.

  
"He- how have you been, man?" He said in what sounded like an anxious, strangled wail.

  
Jake released Rich's hand. It was sweaty. Why was he acting so nervous, like Jake was death himself coming to claim his soul? If anything, Jake thought he should be the nervous one. If he met those perfect hazel eyes one more time, so many feelings he thought he'd buried threatened to make his head explode.

  
"Good, I've been good." Jake forced a smile. It wasn't that he hated Rich. Any bad blood he'd had with him was in the past. One day, in college, he'd felt the urge to call Rich up to tell him that he forgave him, but lost his nerve and deleted his number. Jake just didn't want to admit that he couldn't handle the thoughts and the feelings that his old best friend made him feel. He didn't want to give anyone that power over him. He wanted to stay the self-sufficient and successful Jake Dillinger who didn't need friends to validate him because he was just that cool. That was all, of course, a lie, but as long as he kept people believing it was true, he felt safe.

  
"How are you? Haven't seen you since high school." Jake's voice willed itself not to waver at that. He shouldn't have even asked. It was clear how Rich was doing. He doubted that Rich got very far in life without a high school diploma, let alone with an obvious drinking problem. He seemed sober though, probably because he'd just slept it all off.

  
Rich nodded, smoothing his hand over his hair over and over, a thing he did even in high school whenever he was nervous.

  
"I'm- I'm well..." Rich said. Clearly he wasn't but Jake wasn't about to call him on it either.

  
"Sorry-" he lisped, then stopped himself with a cringe. 35 years old and still spoke with a speech impediment. He smacked himself on the top of his head, muttering curses. He corrected himself.

  
" _Sorry_ ," he said, the without the lisp this time. "If I knew I'd be running into Jakey D. today, I would've made myself look a little better." He chuckled awkwardly. He did look like sort of a wreck, his white tank top clearly unwashed and before he slicked it down, his hair looked like he'd just been through a wind tunnel. Even though he did look like he hadn't fixed himself up in a while, Jake didn't doubt that if Rich knew he would see him, he'd have maybe bothered to put on a clean shirt. Back in school, Rich had made every fathomable attempt to get back into Jake's life. He'd sent Jeremy after him, Christine and Jenna, too. They all said the same things.

  
"Hey man, you should really talk to Rich. He feels really bad about what happened, and I'm sure if you just sat down and listened to him, things would make a lot more sense."

"Jake, I know we haven't talked really since the party but Rich really wants to say something to you, he's really torn up about what he did. Think about it, okay?"

"Jake, I totally heard that Rich feels like he would rather die than live without you. He told me that in confidence, but I really hate to see him so sad."

He ignored them all. If Rich needed to say something so bad, he could say it to his face.

  
Only, he did say it to Jake's face. Or he tried to. And Jake just shut him out. Walked on without looking him in the eyes. It was no surprise that he was a nervous wreck. Here Jake was, talking to him for the first time in years. He was back in his life, if only for a moment.  
God, Jake hoped it would only be a moment, because he desperately wanted it to be MORE than a moment. And Jake knew that what he wanted was not often what he deserved.

  
"So, uh, how you livin' these days?" Rich said after a deafening silence. "You got a wife? Kids?"

  
Jake nodded, taking another swig of his whiskey. "Wife. No kids, though. Maybe someday." It was his turn to chuckle and fidget awkwardly. He really didn't want kids. Not with Gemma, anyway. Maybe it'd reignite the spark they once had, but he was mostly just afraid of being apathetic and cold to them, like he was to everyone else, like his own father was to him.

  
Rich's voice faltered. "Cool man, I always knew you'd settle down with a great lady."

  
If by great he meant distant and standoffish, then yes. He sure had a great lady. He had the greatest lady in the world.

  
"Well, I just stopped in for a quick drink," Jake started. "I gotta drive down to Woodbridge. I work there." He needed to end this. He didn't want to end this, he wanted to apologize, but his pride was too big. He'd rather fucking die than apologize to Rich Goranski in a dive bar while Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer" played over the Bar's radio. Not now. Not like this. Not ever. He stood to go and Rich frantically grabbed his arms.

  
"Wa-wait!" He said, looking up at Jake with pleading, tired eyes. They were both standing now. Rich still had to crane his neck a bit to see Jake's face. He hadn't grown an inch. In high school, he was always saying how tired he was of waiting for his growth spurt, guess it never came.

  
"Should...should you be driving?" He scrambled for an excuse to get Jake to stay. He didn't know what Rich's end game was, but he looked over to the glass of whiskey. It was empty. Jake hadn't even realized he finished it. Maybe he really shouldn't be driving. His rationale screamed at him, telling him that if he stayed with Rich, he wouldn't be able to leave. That didn't sound so terribly bad. Rich was clearly not well. Not happy. Why else would he be here with all of these drunks? It was because Rich WAS a drunk. And those people usually didn't have much going for them.

  
"I've got to be at the office in an hour," Jake mused out loud. He was still deciding between staying here and bolting out the bar door, as far away from Rich as he could possibly get.

  
"Um... why don't we go to my place? I'll get you like, a glass of water or something, let you chill for a bit, get the alcohol out of your system. It's just a few blocks away, my house." Rich spoke fast, not bothering to correct himself whenever he lisped.

  
'Don't do it Dillinger. Don't do it. Say no. He'll get over it, you won't be able to.' The voice in his head urged him.

  
"Sure, Rich."

  
'God fucking damn it, Dillinger.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids!!  
> So first off, wow i did not expect comments this early in the game. I was honestly really afraid of posting this because i just figured no one would care for it, but let's just say I was given a pleasent surprise. Thank you so much for your nice comments, they're what keep me going. And don't forget, if you wanna have some more personal chats with the author, I'm starvom on tumblr. My inbox is open for anything, comments, criticisms, discussions, whatever you want.  
> So! Things are gonna start rolling now that both main characters have been introduced, so get ready for some repressed feelings and awkward conversations. I do hope i'm not going too fast, but I've got a lot planned for this fic so bear with me here while i establish everything. I might go back in add to this chapter since I feel like it's lacking. As always, comments are very welcome. I've got at least three chapters saved as drafts so you won't go without updates for too long I hope.  
> Enjoy!


	3. From the Ground Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't change in Middle Borough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning, there's mentions of child abuse/battery in this chapter, so read at your own discretion. Hope you like it!

They walked out of the bar, leaving the trashy drunks and classic rock music behind them as the glass door closed. The bartender didn't say goodbye, he was probably glad to have one less drunk on his hands. He'd also payed off Jake and Rich's drinks for them, probably thankful for Jake for getting Rich out of his bar. Rich definitely wasn't drunk, he was far too alert and awake to be drunk. He must've slept off the booze during his nap.

  
Jake remembered these streets, even though he didn't really remember there was a dive bar on them. Rich walked him across the busying intersection, people were just starting to head to work, kids to school. They hadn't been talking much, and Jake felt like he let that one glass of Jack Daniel's go to waste, because his thoughts raced just as they would if he hadn't had any alcohol. He tried resuming the conversation by asking about Rich this time.

  
"So, where do you live?" He asked.

  
Rich smoothed his hair over again.

"Same place. When my old man died, my big brother inherited the house, but he's already got a house, so he's letting me have it."

  
So Rich's dad was dead. That was a blessing, really. He pretended that it didn't eat him up when Rich used to come to school with bruises on his arm or bumps on his head. Rich thought it was some big secret, but everyone knew that he and his brother were battered children, even though they never did anything about it. Not one teacher, student, or parent had been concerned for Rich Goranski's safety. Not even his best friend. The guilt was starting to devour him again. He changed the topic.

  
"I see Middle Borough hasn't changed much." Of course it hadn't, Jake visited it every other month or so.

  
Rich pulled a strained smile. He looked so uncomfortable. "Yeah. It's pretty boring. That's why I go to the bar. It doesn't seem like it, but it's pretty fun at night."

  
They both knew that Rich didn't go to the bar because it was fun.

  
They turned the corner and were walking along the neighborhood where Rich's house was. Jake rarely went there back in the day, because Rich didn't want to be there either. Jake's house was more of a home than his own. Occasionally, if Rich's dad was passed out on the couch, they'd sneak downstairs to play Xbox. Jake wondered now how many times Rich had passed out drunk on that very same couch.

  
The house looked relatively the same after seventeen years. Despite all his drinking, Rich's dad kept the place decently clean aside from the beer bottles that frequently littered the floor. Rich had turned the place into a pigsty, though, loose papers practically covered the coffee table, dirty clothes and beer bottles covered the ground. Empty containers of food were scattered everywhere, did Rich throw anything away? Even though it looked like hell, Jake was still able to make his way to the blue couch his friend's dad used to be so fond of. It was clear that Rich was living here as well, the other rooms in the house had their doors closed, including the door to Rich's old room. He wondered if that had changed at all. Probably not.  
Jake sat down, but Rich refused to, frantically neatening the papers on the table and shoving boxes of dry cereal and empty Mountain Dew Red bottles into the overstuffed garbage can. He guessed he was still in touch with at least Michael, the only person Jake knew that had access to red Mountain Dew.

  
"Make yourself comfortable," Rich said, switching on the TV as he passed it while cleaning.

  
Jake scoped out the house further. On the table beneath the television sat a framed picture with a single crack going down the middle of the frame. Jake stood and picked it up. Two women stood hand in hand in the middle wearing elegant wedding gowns, glowing smiles plastered on their perfect faces. Standing around them were five other familiar faces in suits and dresses, smiling, holding up hearts and peace signs with their hands. Chloe and Brooke's wedding. He received that invitation in the mail over four years ago, there was no telling if they were all still together. It was a solid group of friends, though. They were probably all still in touch. He turned the photo over so that those happy faces didn't face him.

  
As he sat back down, Jake heard the answering machine speak in an automated voice from the kitchen.

  
"You have one new message." It said, and the message played. Jeremy's familiar falsetto voice rang through Jake's ears.   
"Hey man, Michael and I were gonna go out to eat tomorrow night, if you maybe wanted to come."

  
"Tell him we'll pay!" Michael's voice called somewhere in the background of the message.

  
"We'll pay, we were probably just gonna go to a cheap diner or something, nothing big. I hear Brooke and Chloe are gonna be in town next week, maybe we could all get Pinkberry or go get some drinks or just hang out at one of our places, I mean-"

  
"Babe, you're rambling." Michael again.

  
"Oh, uh, right. Well anyway, call me back if you're up for it. A-and listen, I know things are hard for you this time of year, with Halloween coming up and everything, but like I said, I really think you should call Ja-"

  
Jake heard the sound of Rich scrambling to stop the message.

  
"Message deleted."

  
So they were all still in touch. At least, Rich, Jeremy, Michael and two of the girls were. He thought of the first half of his name coming up in the message. Was Rich still talking to them about Jake to this day? Why did his name even come up in a prior conversation? Why'd Jeremy want Rich to call him? He really hated being out of the loop, but without friends, he was always out of the loop.

  
"Damn it, Jer." He heard Rich mumble, exasperated.

  
Rich stepped back into the living room, kneading his hands together nervously.

  
"Hey, sorry about that." He said, sitting on the couch, putting a lot of distance between him and Jake.

  
"You got plans?" Jake said, smiling. He was happy that even if Rich probably drowned his sorrows in liquor, he still had good friends to support him.

  
Rich returned his smile with that strange, mangled one he'd had earlier. "Yeah. Sometimes me, Michael, Jeremy, and Christine will go out for lunch or clubbing. Jenna too, sometimes."

  
Jake checked his watch.

  
"This was nice, Rich and I hate to be going so soon after you let me into your house, but I've got wor-"

  
"I'll drive you!" Rich almost screamed. He quieted down. "I mean..." Rich sighed and gripped his own hair. "Why don't you come to dinner with us? That message was from yesterday so, tonight? I just feel like this was a really, really shitty way to meet up again," he chuckled stiffly. "Wh-what do you say? Old time's sake?"

  
Jake stared at him for a while. God, that would sound awesome to the 17 year-old Jake Dillinger. But to the 35 year old Jake Dillinger, this was fucking _terrifying_. Just this morning he was standing before his Keurig, missing his friends, but also convincing himself that he didn't need friends. Sitting in his car, missing Rich but also reminding himself that he didn't want to speak to Rich again. Drinking at a dive bar, missing those hazel eyes and that gape-toothed smile, but also reminding himself that he was married and had made a promise to that woman, even if he didn't love her anymore. He was always missing things, and here all of those things were all of a sudden, expecting him to just be able to jump right back in without being damaged, without having forgotten what it meant to be close with people. All of this fucking noise in his head was going to turn him deaf one day. It'd turn to bile and poison him from the inside out. If he was with them, if he got back on speaking terms with Rich, would his mind finally be quiet? Would he no longer look at drunks of all people with jealousy, because they could escape from their problems and he was stuck here dealing with, but not really dealing with his problems? Fuck, it was worth it all just for the hope that things would finally change and his head would finally shut the fuck up about all of these miserable things.

  
Jake swallowed. When did his mouth get so dry?

  
"Yeah, Rich. After work today, I'll come back down. Old time's sake."

  
The flushed relief and the first genuine smile Rich had given since they'd seen each other that day made Jake sure of it.  
He was gonna get these fucking voices out of his head, even if he had to rebuild his entire relationship with Rich from the ground up. No turning back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a day late, I was too exhausted to proofread last night, but here she is, chapter 3! A little short, but it's mostly exposition about Rich so I hope you'll forgive me.  
> Some of you have mentioned how you like my characterization of Jake, and you know that means a ton. I feel like there's so much more to his character which is why I chose his perspective in the first place. Hes a good boy guys give him some slack  
> Aanyway, like always, comments are appreciated. I'm also taking comments and questions at starvom on tumblr, if you want a direct reply to your comment, that's the place to go!   
> I hope you liked it! We'll get to see Jeremy, Michael, Christine, and Jenna next chapter, so stay tuned!


	4. The Weight of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group reunites, and Jake and Jeremy have a discussion.

He really wanted to turn back.

  
Jake held his hands in his head at his office desk. 6:59 PM. It was almost time for him to clock out. Clock out and go meet his former best friend who burnt down his house. His former best friend who he cut ties with in eleventh grade. His former best friend who was now a drunk. His former best friend that he'd had feelings for since they were kids.  
Could he have made a bigger mistake?

Probably, but this one felt like the biggest. He hadn't been out with friends, real friends in...ever. The last time he went out to eat with someone was three years ago, and it was with Gemma, so that wasn't much to be desired. She certainly wasn't his friend, not even back then when their marriage was a little less tedious.

  
And these people weren't even his friends anymore anyhow. Christine would probably be there, and he knew for a fact that the young thespian thought he was the biggest asshole on the face of the earth. Well, Jake thought that about himself too, so maybe they'd have stuff to talk about. He could only assume that all of his other old "pals" felt the same way. They were all aligned with Rich, and how couldn't they be?

  
What had Chloe called it? "The wounded puppy routine"? She'd used it to describe Brooke, but he realized it fit Rich pretty well too. Only it probably wasn't a routine. Jake had kicked him while he was down. He kept trying to remind himself that it was justified, being upset with the guy that burned your house down, but he remembered that Jeremy had once tried to explain to Jake that it wasn't Rich's fault. And if he were more secure in the fact that he felt compromising feelings whenever he was with Rich Goranski, he would've accepted it and become close with him again.

But he couldn't, and now there he was, clocking out right on time to go meet his former friends for dinner. Great.

  
The Volvo pulled up in Rich's driveway. Earlier, Rich walked him to his car and watched him drive away with those sad little hazel eyes that were bordered by tired rings. If the man wasn't actively trying to make Jake feel guilty, he was doing it anyway. He didn't even need Rich to feel guilty. He was guilty all the time. It was always Jake's fucking fault, in both his own mind and other's minds.   
When he pulled up, Rich was standing there, knotting his hands together like he'd been doing earlier. As Jake got closer, he saw that Rich was now clean-shaven and his hair was slicked back like it was in high school, sans the red streak (that was probably a little too youthful). He'd traded out his dirty white tank top for a wrinkled, but seemingly clean Friday the Thirteenth T-shirt. It probably belonged to Rich's brother. In high school, all Rich wore was his older brother's hand-me-downs. Probably because his dad didn't buy him new shit. Since almost every man towered over Richard Goranski, it fit the same way it did when he was 35 as it did when he was 17. It was cute.

  
'Just fucking focus.' He told himself. Focus on what? He didn't know. Just not Rich.

  
Jake stepped out of the car, only then realizing he was still in his work clothes. Was he really that eager to see them all that he didn't change? Or was he so nervous to see them that he didn't change?

  
"Hey man. Should I drive, or-" Jake said when he got closer to Rich, shaking his hand in that awkward way again. Rich had tried to go in for a sort of hug, but Jake was a business man. He didn't hug, he shook hands. He also didn't hug for other reasons, but he begged himself not to go into that. He just had to be strong. He was always being strong.

  
"Um, no, Michael and Jeremy are gonna pick us up." Rich said, looking down, a little embarrassed that Jake opted for the handshake over the hug.

  
Like it was their cue, a red PT Cruiser pulled into the lawn. Jake hadn't left them much room in the driveway, but unsurprisingly, Rich didn't really care about the state of his grass. Gemma would have a fit if one of Jake's friends ran through her grass.

  
Shit. He'd forgot to tell Gemma where he'd be.

  
"Rich!" Michael greeted the smaller man standing in the driveway with one of those half-hugs that guys gave each other, patting him on the back.

  
"Hey man." Rich was genuinely smiling, not like he had when Jake said he'd go out tonight with all of them, but it was still better than that deformed, pained smile he had when he was uncomfortable. As Jake finished texting a quick, standard text to his wife (no 'i love you's' or heart emojis, just business as usual), Jeremy came up to greet him after he greeted Rich.

  
"Hey." Jeremy said, awkwardly. He kind of wished Michael greeted him first, that guy knew how to start a conversation. "Good to see you again."

  
Jake nodded. Neither of them offered their hands for the other to shake. "You too, Jeremy."

  
Not another word was said before they all piled into the shitty vintage car. Michael must've had it for years. It stank of pot and Doritos. He knew Michael and Jeremy never changed, the biggest change was that Michael no longer wore glasses and Jeremy was no longer covered in acne. He'd frequently seen the two whenever he made the mistake of visiting his hometown, but if they saw him too, they never called him over to talk.

  
The silence was deafening, and Michael, clearly not comfortable with no one talking, looked at Jake through his rear-view mirror.

  
"So, Jake," he started. "Rich tells me you're married?"

  
Great. Her. Why did everyone want to know about her?

  
"Yep. Ten years, happily married." That was a lie, but how could they know that?

  
"Cool, cool man, that's great. I'm actually trying to get Jeremy to agree with tying the kno-"

  
"Michael!" Jeremy playfully shoved his arms and Michael swerved a little.

  
"What, he can't know?"

  
Rich smiled genuinely again, resting his tongue between the gap in his teeth.

  
"You guys need to get a fuckin' room."

  
"Trust me Rich, after this dinner, I'm gonna-"

  
Jeremy scrambled to put his hands over Michael's mouth, smiling and laughing. Thank god they had parked already, or Michael might've ran off the road. Jake saw how Rich's smile fell a bit, watching the two men in the front seats put their affection out for both of them to see. It wasn't like he wasn't happy for Jeremy and Michael, but they both could almost hear each other think "why don't I have something like that?"

  
Their thoughts were interrupted by a happy voice calling them over, waving frantically. Christine. Jenna wasn't far behind her, leaning on the brick wall of the diner, texting someone, but pausing to give a wave and a smile in their direction. As Jake got out of the car, Christine's bright smile faltered and Jenna's busy texting thumbs stopped in their tracks to stare. Had they not known he was coming?

  
Christine, not taking her eyes off Jake once, hugged Jeremy, Michael, and Rich individually. Jenna gave those half-hugs that Rich and Michael had shared earlier.   
"I see you brought an extra guest," Jenna said. There was no malice in her voice, but he felt himself shrink under the girls' gazes anyway.

  
"Oh, yeah." Jeremy said, extending his hand as if to present Jake to them. "You remember Jake Dillinger Fr-from high school?"

  
"Of course." Christine said curtly, holding her hands together at her waist. She looked unbelievably stiff, more than she was when she had greeted the other three men. She hadn't changed much either, but her black hair was longer and pulled into a loose braid that was swung over her shoulder. She looked like one of the heroines from the Shakespeare plays she loved so much. She was never one for makeup in high school, but she wore a very light lipstick and her eyelashes were clearly done a bit. Why was she so dressed up for a diner?

  
Jenna had changed even less. She wore a short pink dress and some pink pumps that were the same color. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail and she was caked in vibrant make-up, unlike Christine. Apparently she went out on the town a lot, from the few times Jake had seen her in lines for clubs. Her eyes were also tired, though, granted not as tired as Rich's. He assumed it was because she was always out dancing, but maybe she was an unfulfilled substance abuser too. Then he remembered that Jenna Rolan didn't do drugs. She had to be focused and alert to be able to catch the latest. At least, that's what she'd said to him at one of his parties in high school. She was a grown woman now, but somehow Jake didn't doubt that she still did it. She was Middle Borough's professional gossip girl, forever and always.

  
"Shall we go in?" Christine asked, less curt because the question was directed more at her actual friends than the guy she thought was the biggest douche she knew.

  
The group entered the establishment. It was a vintage 50s diner, jukebox and neon signs and all. The waitress was chomping on her gum, looking more like she didn't want to be there than Jake did. For different reasons, probably. Unnamed waitress woman was probably dying to go home and sleep, and Jake Dillinger was dying to go home and never have to speak with these people or deal with these feelings ever again. Tragically though, they were both stuck here until 9:00 PM.

  
They sat at a round, red table and placed their orders for drinks. Jake wasn't hungry, mostly because he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't supposed to be there. These were old friends, friends that went to each others weddings and invited each other to dinner. Jake was not their friend. He wasn't their enemy, but he sure as hell wasn't able to call himself a member of the gang either. It was funny how when he was a kid, Jeremy Heere was the dude with no friends. Now, it was him. Not because he couldn't get them, but because he was too scared to make the effort to get them. He guessed popularity really didn't matter after high school.   
There was silence again, and Christine hated silence almost as much as Michael, so they'd be the designated getting-the-conversation-going captains for tonight, Jake supposed.

  
"So, did you hear that Brooke and Chloe are gonna be coming down soon?" Christine asked at no one in particular, but she was looking at Jeremy.

  
Jenna smiled. "Yeah, Chloe's always talking about how she feels like we're all falling apart without her divine presence. She's just looking for an excuse to come see us without actually saying that she wants to see us." She said, taking a sip of her vanilla coke.

  
"Classic Chloe," Jeremy said, mirroring Jenna's smile. They were all smiling except for Jake and Christine. Jake didn't meet the small woman's eyes but he could tell that they looked at him every time she thought he wasn't watching.

  
"Did either of them...Di-did either of them tell you how long they'd be here?" Rich stuttered, obviously looking for words that didn't have 'S' in them.

  
"They're gonna stay with me," Jenna said. "I've got a pull-out couch for them to do whatever it is Brooke and Chloe do together on." She wiggled her eyebrows and winked. "A week, Brooke said."

  
"Shit," Michael said, taking a sip of his Mountain Dew. It was regular green Mountain Dew, and Jeremy and Rich occasionally eyed it like it was their murder weapon. Michael noticed and held it in his lap as opposed to on the table. "Looks like we'll be eating frozen yogurt for a week then."

  
The group laughed a little bit, Jake faked one to feel like he was in the loop, like they'd actually invite him to go to Pinkberry with them for a whole week.

  
"You should come, Jake." Rich said, almost shyly. That was only the second thing Rich had said since they got inside the diner, and the first thing he'd said to Jake. Suddenly, five pairs of eyes were back on him, like they had been when he exited Michael's car.

  
"Sure. I-if Chloe and Brooke would want to see me, of course." He was sweating now. He felt like he was at the gates of heaven, waiting for Lady Justice to weigh his sins. These people knew he wasn't supposed to be here.

  
"Aw, don't worry man. Brooke's happy to see everyone." Michael said, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  
"Yeah, and Chloe does about anything Brooke tells her, as long as she's got the puppy eyes," Jenna giggled, and they were all laughing again.

  
It would be the most nerve-wracking to see Chloe, he thought. These people around the table were nice, they'd spare him a lecture in the parking lot of a 50s diner. Chloe would tell him up front how she felt about him coming back into everyone's lives uninvited by everyone except Rich, who probably wasn't in the best state of mind to be bringing old friends back into his life anyway. Chloe Valentine would annihilate him.

  
What was he thinking? About coming into their lives? About even getting the chance to meet Chloe again? Even if Michael invited him to spare his feelings, this was surely a one time thing from the way Christine stared at him like he'd been the one that burnt down the house. They all seemed to fucking forget that Jake was a victim, too. If he didn't desperately want some temporary friends to distract him from his thoughts, he'd tell them to fuck off right then and there.  
But Jake Dillinger never said what was on his mind, did he?

  
Jeremy rose from his seat suddenly. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom before our food comes," he said.

  
Jake jumped at the opportunity. Pissing next to Jeremy would be awkward, but he felt like he'd catch fire if Christine's eyes bore into him any longer.

  
"Me too, I'll come with you." Jake got up as well, beginning to follow the shorter man into the restrooms.

  
"Don't steal my man, Dillinger," Michael called back to them, jokingly.

  
When they were in the bathroom, Jeremy checked under the stalls to make sure no one was in there, then went into the leftmost one. Rich had once told him that Jeremy had this weird thing about pissing in front of others. Weird little guy.

  
Jake did his business without another word. He washed his hands and looked in the mirror. He looked like he'd just run a mile, sweating and red in the face.

  
"Jesus," he said in awe at he felt how hot he'd gotten just from the first half of an uncomfortable dinner. The high school Jake Dillinger knew how to keep his cool under pressure. He was always under pressure to be the best, but he never sweat or got red-faced, especially not from a 5 foot tall woman staring daggers into him. She didn't even look angry. Just blank-faced. He assumed that's how moms looked when they were really disappointed in you. Key word: assumed. He never had a mom to be disappointed in him. 'Thanks Christine,' he thought. 'Thanks for filling that void.'

  
"Jake?" Jeremy said. Jake jumped. He didn't even notice that Jeremy was done.

  
"Sorry," he said, smiling a little, likely amused at the irony of former high school nothing Jeremy Heere having former high school everything Jake Dillinger on edge.

  
Jake sighed and dried his hands.

  
"It's fine." Jake said, looking away. They were just standing there at this point, both men having done their business. Jeremy opened his mouth a few times like he wanted to say something, then finally spoke after a good ten seconds of staring at his feet.

  
"This is kind of awkward, isn't it?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Rich only told us he'd seen you about an hour before we were gonna head out."

  
Jake chuckled nervously. He really was an unexpected and unwelcome guest.

  
"Sorry," he said for the second time since they'd gotten to the bathroom. "He was really into the idea of me coming."

  
Jeremy nodded. "He talks about you. A ton, really."

  
Jake looked up quizzically. What was there to talk about? Old memories? That must've gotten annoying, hearing a drunk blather on about their good memories over and over. They didn't have enough memories together for Rich to fill seventeen years of conversation with. They'd only been friends from the end of freshman year to the middle of junior year, when the bad stuff happened. That was certainly enough time for Jake to develop those horrid feelings, though.

  
"Yeah?" Jake asked, though he didn't want an answer. He opted for another question, one that he already had a good enough answer to, but maybe Jeremy had a different perspective. "How has he been? Since I've been away?"

  
The skinny man ran his fingers through his hair, sighing slightly.

  
"I mean, you saw him. He doesn't talk like he used to. All he really knows how to do anymore is drink and feel bad for himself."

  
Jake sympathized.

  
Suddenly, like he'd finally figured out exactly what he wanted to say, Jeremy got directly in front of Jake and looked into his eyes.

  
"I... I want you to stick around." He said, an uncharacteristic amount of resolve showing on his pale face. "For Rich's sake. You don't have to hang out with us, and you don't have to be best pals with him again. Just stick around long enough for him to work up the nerve to apologize and explain everything to you. I honestly don't think he should be the one apologizing, but that's all he wants."

  
Jake gulped, his mouth going dry like it had when Rich said he'd wanted to hang out again.

  
Jeremy sighed and put his hand on the door handle, turning away.

  
"Just think about it, okay?" He said, then exited the bathroom.

  
As he walked away, Jake stared down at him in awe. He actually wanted Jake around? Granted, not because he actually liked him. He didn't want Jake Dillinger the person, he wanted Jake Dillinger the man who might be able to give his drunk friend closure. That was understandable. The thing that was hard to grasp was the fact that Jeremy had basically said that he believed the secret to Rich getting better was him. How the hell could Jake help someone else when he didn't know how to help himself? It felt as if Jeremy Heere had just put the weight of the world on his shoulders, and one thing was absolutely clear, he thought to himself.

  
'Nice one, Dillinger. Now you're in this for good.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided that updates are going to come on weekdays. They may be every other day if I'm running behind on writing or am just too tired to proofread and format, but weekends will be reserved to let me write and get ahead with updates. Updates usually come from around noon to three in the afternoon. Sorry for leaving you in the dark about that this weekend, but that's the schedule from now on!   
> i dont have much to say on this chapter, this one's kind of a buffer and excuse to introduce the rest of the characters. I'm not very good at writing Michael honestly im so sorry my perfect boy  
> Let me know what you think! I read all of your comments and i cherish all of them really, they make my day  
> I'm starvom on tumblr for those of you that want direct replies. Hope you enjoy!


	5. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in his life, Jake Dillinger decides to stop running.

The dinner ended without relative incident. They continued to chat, awkwardly with him, and more comfortably amongst themselves. Jake certainly didn't feel like any of these people wanted to become shiny, happy best buddies like they'd almost gotten to be in high school. They wouldn't bring him into their circle, wouldn't invite him to the next wedding because they knew he wouldn't come anyway. He felt stupid for thinking that he could go to dinner with them once and suddenly he'd have purpose again.

  
Jeremy had encouraged him to get closer to Rich, but that didn't mean he had to get closer to them. He hardly even wanted to get close to them again. They were all just personified reminders of how even though Jake was successful and affluent, he'd never have what they had: a sense of community and friendship. A partner. Another half. Not just by name, but by action. He doubted Jeremy ever looked at Michael like he was old news. He doubted that Chloe slept as far away from Brooke as she could at night. He doubted that even though Jenna and Christine were bachelorettes, they'd ever be stupid enough to marry people they didn't feel love for.

  
As the girls parted and Michael dropped Rich and him off back at Rich's house, he received a shrill reminder of how foolish he'd been.

  
They'd barely waved awkward goodbyes to Jeremy and Michael before Gemma was calling his phone. He stepped away from Rich, urging him to go back inside. It was cold and he promised to come back in to give the other man a proper goodbye and a thanks for forcing his friends to eat a dinner with a guy they hadn't seen since adolescence.

  
"Hello?" Jake said into his phone, a numb pain welling up in his chest. Gemma never called him unless it was an excuse to yell at him for something.

  
"So, how long were you just gonna leave me in the dark about where you were going?" Gemma's terse voice greeted his ears.

  
For one, he thought, he didn't leave her in the dark, he'd literally texted her that he was gonna hang with some friends. Second, she didn't even care where he was going anyway. She never fucking cared unless it was something to yell at him for.

  
"Sorry, Gem. I'll be home in thirty minutes."

  
"Whatever, douche. Pick up milk and eggs." She hung up abruptly. This didn't sting anymore. It never stung as bad as it used to. This was his routine. His terrible fucking routine. He tried not to be violent, and placed his phone back into his pocket, rather than smashing it on the concrete of Rich's driveway like his heart felt like doing. Jake felt like he was in some cliché movie, where the main character is living a life they don't want, and by the end they realize that what they'd been looking for was right in front of them the entire time, in the form of another person, and their lips would lock and tears would fall and his life would change for the better and-

  
"You wanna come inside for a minute? It's cold," a tiny voice from a tiny man cut in through his mind's incessant noise.

It _was_ pretty cold out. It was almost Halloween, after all. How could he ever forget about Halloween? He wondered what Rich did on the holiday. Jake knew what he and Gemma did. He bought some shitty candy bars for the snotty neighborhood kids, put them in a bowl on the porch, turned off all the lights and lay in bed until morning. Not sleep, just lay there and imagine fire, imagine loneliness, imagine those things that only served to make his blood pressure rise and his hands shake. He figured Rich did something similar.

  
Jake nodded, still holding a death grip on the smartphone in his pants pocket. He followed Rich back inside.

  
In the later half of the dinner, Rich had started to decompress. He let his shoulders fall, stopped rubbing his hair and kneading his hands. The very minute he was alone with Jake, though, he went back to looking not unlike a sad, scared animal. Was this how he was when he was sober? Jake had the feeling that maybe if he saw Rich drunk, happy, laughing like an idiot, he wouldn't feel as bad for leaving. But Jeremy said that all he knew how to do was feel bad for himself. Maybe he was a sad drunk. Jake didn't want to stick around long enough to figure out what kind of drunk Rich Goranski was. He didn't want to learn all the little things that'd changed about him in seventeen years. He didn't want to see what he'd done to change a happy, healthy, and confident boy into a wretched, drunken and neurotic man. He didn't. Fucking. Need this. With a callous, cold woman to call his wife and the self deprecating thoughts that he never stopped thinking, life was hard enough. He couldn't discern whether he wanted to yell at Rich or hold him and never let go, and it was tearing him apart. In just a fucking day in Rich Goranski's presence, he was ready to scream. And it wasn't Rich's fault. The only self-deprecating Rich was responsible for was his own. He had enough issues outside of Jake Dillinger and his persistent inability to accept reality.

  
"Jake?"

  
He looked down. His knuckles were white on Rich's kitchen counter. The smaller man looked up at him with worrying, tired eyes. He inhaled then exhaled sharply, taking his hands off the counter and jamming them into his pockets.

  
"Sorry." He hated how stiff his voice sounded. The last pleasant conversation he'd had with Rich, the majority of their conversations, were laid back. Chill. There was laughter every minute, when they still had laughter in their young hearts. Now he could barely look at Rich without feeling guilty, let alone speak to him without sounding like he was about to break.

  
Rich kicked a beer bottle out of their path as the two men moved to sit on the couch again, once more sitting as far apart as they could. Rich folded his hands in his lap and let his eyes catch the blue light of the TV that had been on since they left. Jake caught sight of his hazel eyes, anxious and tired and reflecting some crappy 80s romance movie. His chest swelled. He'd done a good job of avoiding his old friend's direct gaze for most of the night, now he was caught in those perfect orbs of amber and green. Since they were kids, Jake had been fixated on them. He himself had boring unpossessing chocolate brown eyes. Everyone he'd ever been interested enough in to catch the eyes of only had one color to them. Rich was many colors. Figuratively and literally. Or at least, he used to be. He used to be the most colorful, energetic creature in Jake's entire world, which therein energized him and made him feel like he could get through the day. Now that vibrant, pulsating energy of a boy was dead, the only color left being in his eyes, which were even looking more and more dull and dead by the hour. Had he been the one to kill that color?

  
Jake shut his eyes and forced himself to look away. He wasn't what Rich needed. Maybe he was what he wanted, but he'd only be a source of disappointment. Jake Dillinger was married. Jake Dillinger had a stable job and constant obligations. Jake Dillinger was not made for the affections of Richard Goranski. No matter how much both of them wanted him to be.

  
What had he thought earlier? That he'd rebuild his relationship with Rich no matter what it took, just to stop the voices in his head? Ha. Jake couldn't even look at Rich.

  
"It's getting late, man." Jake put a hand on Rich's shoulder, which the smaller man flinched away from. He flinched like that when Michael came up to pat him on the back earlier, too. Guess it wasn't personal. "I should get home to the wife."

  
Rich looked up at him with those forlorn puppy eyes that told him that he didn't want Jake to leave, but nodded anyway and gave that pained smile again.

  
"She's a lucky lady, Jakey D."

  
Jake grimaced. She sure didn't feel that way. He didn't feel that way either. But he was sure Rich meant it from the way his eyes shone longingly.

  
Jake was caught in those eyes again. Only this time, Rich was staring back. They looked like they had stars in them, but it was just the way his eyes were wet and reflecting the dynamic light of the TV screen. Captivated once again, Jake placed his other hand on Rich's other shoulder.

  
"I'm sorry." He said simply, clearly. Rich seemed taken aback. He looked up at him quizzically, as if to say "for what?", but his lips did not move. They stayed slightly parted, open enough to see the gap between his front teeth. He stuttered a little, suddenly flustered at his old friend's sudden boldness.

  
"I-you...you've got nothing to be sorry for," the inflection in his voice presented it as a question.

  
Jake furrowed his brow. This was all wrong. Rich was supposed to take his apology. If Rich took his apology, he'd feel less guilty going home that night, and feeling like never returning despite Jeremy's plea. Either take it or tell him that it was useless because of how Jake fucked him over, then cast him out. He felt like such a massive fuck-up, why had everyone acted like he was different? Since high school, since middle school, they'd all told him how much potential he'd had, how cool and fun he was. Football players clapped him on his back and celebrated him after a good game. A sultry college woman called Gemma set her sights on him because she was sure he was the best. His boss praising him and his work, saying he'd expect nothing less from the greatest employee he'd ever had. Jeremy Heere and his supportive network of friends were interested and unsurprised about his successes as an adult. Rich fucking Goranski STILL looked at him like he was the only thing in the world. Why, god, why didn't he see any of it? People always told him to accept compliments instead of refuting them, but how could he accept sentiments that he never felt, that seemed so foreign to him? Were they all stupid, or was *he* stupid for not being able to see himself like anything other than a waste and a fool that was churlish and rude to the people that only wanted to help him? Everyone in Middle Borough would kill to be Jake Dillinger.

  
Everyone, that is, except for Jake Dillinger.

  
Jake exhaled slowly and removed his hands from Rich's shoulders, tearing himself away from those eyes.

  
"You're right. Never mind." Jake dismissed. Rich looked skeptical, like he wanted to urge Jake to elaborate on what exactly he was sorry for. That was the closest he'd ever been to letting Rich know how he felt. He wanted so badly to tell him these things that'd been on his mind, but he had to remind himself that they weren't friends, not anymore.

Maybe they'd get to be someday, but not tonight. Things didn't happen like that. He couldn't even imagine getting close to Rich again. The way they were so awkward and nervous around each other was painful, for the both of them. As kids, they shared everything. He was always comparing everything from now to how it was back then. Maybe because back then was the last time he felt genuine community and happiness. No matter how much Jake told himself he didn't need friends because he knew how to be self-sufficient, he was a social creature. There was a deep, pitiful longing buried somewhere inside of him to be part of something more than himself. Whether that meant being part of a friend group or half of a pair, it didn't matter. This silence was deafening, but yet still, there was never a silent moment as long as his thoughts continued to race, as his head continued to spin as he thought of these depressing, unfortunate realities that bound him with this town for seemingly forever. This had to stop.

  
Jake rested his face in his hands, wanting to have a full disclosure with Rich but not being close enough to him to even consider spilling his guts about all of this shit that revolved him wherever he went, this shit that made sure he'd never, ever lose the taste of Rich's name on his tongue. This was happening so fast, he felt like he'd pass out. A vibration in his pants pocket grounded him. He checked it.

**Gemma** : If you're not home in ten minutes im locking you out jake i swear to god

Jake bit his tongue. No more of this. No more fucking around.

  
"Listen, Rich," he started, looking at him but making it a personal point not to meet those eyes.

  
Rich's face softened from one of confusion and hesitation to one of attentiveness.

  
"Yeah?"

  
This was it. "I think my car's about out of gas, and the wife's probably already turned in for the night," Lies. Lies that neither of them would believe. Rich wasn't dumb. "I'd hate to wake her up. Mind if I crash in your guest bedroom? Old time's sake again?" Jake's lips pulled into some sort of half smile. This was unbelievably stupid. But that text from Gemma solidified it in his heart. If she didn't want him, she wouldn't get him. He thought back to what Jeremy had said. Here was a man that actually wanted him to stay. This would be his first step. He also thought back to the amount of pure resolve on Jeremy's face when he decided he was going to take action and urge Jake to help his old friend. It was true that Jake was scared of getting close with Rich again. Terrified. Those compromising feelings would only get worse, though, if he allowed them to fester alone, by himself. Even though every muscle in his body begged him to turn away and run from Middle Borough, run from his memories, run from Richard Goranski, he'd been running all his life.  
It was time for something new.

  
Jake made the rookie mistake of letting his eyes meet Rich's, and he could honestly swear there were stars gleaming in those golden, wet pools of amber and green. Looking up at him, Rich smiled too. It was slight and nowhere near the biggest smile he'd had all day, but it wasn't pained and uncomfortable. It was awestruck and excited. The Rich Goranski he knew.

  
"Yeah," he said, voice barely rising above a whisper. "Old time's sake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! The ball's finally rolling. What a day right?? Did you guys know that i based the character of Gemma after an ex girlfriend of mine? Yeah she was kind of the worst, but at least i'm channeling my bitterness into something productive eh?  
> Next chapter is going to be pure angst so start prepping my dudes  
> I really feel like i'm rushing things but only because I've got big plans. Should i call this medium burn? I don't know, we'll see!  
> And I know I say it every time, but i'm starvom on tumblr if you want to talk. Seriously, come talk to me! And comments here are extremely appreciated as well. Hope you enjoy!


	6. Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake relearns the price of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes before we begin.  
> Suicide is heavily referenced in this chapter, explicitly stated even. Please read at your own discretion. There are also mentions of child abuse and one slur is used.  
> Flashbacks are indicated by italics. Written letters and text messages are indicated by bolded letters. This is a rough one, guys.   
> See end of chapter for new NEW update schedule. Hope you like it.

_It had been a relatively standard night. Jake had come home from football practice to his familiar deafening silence. He hated to say it because it sounded so self destructive, but sometimes he wished football practice would end in a broken bone, or just a simple busted lip. Then he'd be able to spend some time in an infirmary or just a little extra time getting patched up so he could live with sound for just a few more hours. He'd call up some friends, but it was one of those particularly heinous days when he was too insecure to bother any of them. Sometimes, though, the world would answer his prayers and send him sound, even if the sound was of his best friend freaking out over the phone._

  
_Rich called merely seconds after Jake returned. He knew their practice schedules, sometimes he'd join the ranks of the other guys' pretty little one-week girlfriends and sit on the bleachers, watching him hustle. He wondered what it felt like to give his letterman to a cold girlfriend that'd watch him play despite the chilling fall weather. He'd, of course, had girlfriends before, but it was all so superficial. He was dating Chloe Valentine at the time and she never came to practice. But Rich did, and so he knew when Jake would be home. He hadn't come to practice this time, and Jake feared the worst._

  
_"Hello?"_

  
_"He-"_ BANG _! "Hey dude..."_

  
_"Rich? What was that sound?"_

  
_"Ca-can you, uh..."_

  
_Jake understood instantly. This was not the first time. In fact, it happened every week._

  
_"I'll be there in five. Stay in your room, okay?"_

  
_He heard the sound of Rich swallowing hard and weeping softly. "Please hurry."_

  
_Hurry he did. He would've ran on foot to Rich's house in five minutes if he didn't have a car. He knew the way to Rich's house better than he knew the way to his own house. He didn't usually come to stay with Rich, usually if he could get out, it'd be the other way around. But it was clear that he couldn't. Jake wasn't afraid of Rich's dad coming after him. Rich's older brother got the brunt of their father's fits, but the screaming scared Rich enough to not intervene. Usually he was pretty good at detecting his dad's moods, but sometimes the yelling would start and he'd be too paralyzed to run to Jake's house. He just needed something to hold on to until his father got bored or his brother found a way out for himself. Jake was always more than happy to oblige._

  
_Jake pulled in to a spot about three houses away from Rich's house, he couldn't well just walk inside, and Rich's dad knew what Jake's car looked like. He snuck around back, to Rich's window. It was unlocked, like usual, and Jake let himself inside without hesitation. The violence had quite clearly calmed down, as the only sounds inside the house were Rich's panicked, quick breaths and whimpers. No one in their life had ever seen Richard Goranski crying but Jake. And it had to be the worst sight and the worst sound in the world, to see and hear his best friend who was usually so confident and abound with excited energy huddled close to the back of his closet, weeping in fear._

  
_Jake closed the window behind him and knocked softly on the closet that Rich had locked from the inside. They had a special knock to know when it was the other outside of a window or a closet. This was a system and they'd kept it in place since they became friends._

  
_Rich unlocked the door for Jake, who had to crouch just to get to where he was, curled up in the back among the clothes._

  
_Jake assumed the position, wrapping his arms around the scared figure in the dark, resting his chin on Rich's head and mumbling comforts into his ear. This was them each at their most intimate. If they could only see them now, the other guys at school would bluster on about how they were 'fags' or some other slur that indicated that they had no idea what either of them were going through. Had no idea that these two boys couldn't just go home to a happy, warm household where they were served hot meals and waited on hand and foot. That reality did not exist for them. They understood each other and understood that these moments of comfort were things that only they could share._

  
_After a while, Jake left for just a moment to confirm that Rich's dad was either passed out drunk or off to get passed out drunk at a bar, then led Rich back into the dim light of his room. He would be staying here until they had to go to school in the morning, which was fine. This was a system that they'd had many hours to work out. Jake kept spare clothes in Rich's closet, and vice versa. Jake was content with sleeping on Rich's floor, even though he'd readily give up his bed for Jake in an instant (it was too small anyway, Jake's legs would hang off the edge). By the end of the night, they'd be sleeping on the floor together anyhow._

  
_Rich was usually quiet after these ordeals, clearly deep in thought. Sometimes it even looked like he was mumbling to himself, talking to someone Jake couldn't see. It was getting dark out, and they were both tired enough to sleep for years. He still made sure that Rich knew his options before they turned in._

  
_"You wanna play Xbox?"_

  
_Rich shook his head, kneading his hands together._

  
_"Wanna talk about it?"_

  
_He shook his head._

  
_"Do you wanna sleep in your bed or on the floor?"_

  
_"Floor." Rich muttered, not looking up from his hands._

  
_Jake nodded and did the work for him, pulling his blanket and pillows from his bed and setting them on the floor for the two boys to sleep with. As they got situated on the ground, plugging their phones in to last them the night, Rich caught Jake's eyes with his and whispered words only for him._

  
_"Thanks, Jakey D."_

  
_Jake stared, wanting more than anything to be locked there in his gaze forever._

  
_"Any time, Rich."_

  
_The 'I love you' part was only in his mind._

* * *

  
  
Okay, so this was probably a bad idea. But Jake had done a great job of convincing himself that it was necessary. Also, he didn't want to face his estranged wife's fury, and he couldn't well avoid her all night. He had to sleep sometime, and he'd slept here before. Just not in over seventeen years.

  
Rich let Jake sleep in the spare bedroom, or what used to be his big brother's room. He, of course, opted for the couch and insisted to Jake that it was a lot more comfortable than it looked. Jake wondered dually both how that couch was still even able to be sat on after almost two decades of use, as well as why Rich wouldn't sleep in his own bedroom. He assumed it was bad memories, but then this entire house was probably a bad memory for Rich.

  
He'd never slept in the guest room before, and had only been in there back when he was helping Rich snoop through his brother's things for something to wear as a costume for Halloween since he knew his brother was a bit of a horror fan and would probably have some sort of character mask sitting around. Why did it always go back to Halloween? Jake would certainly have his work cut out for him trying to sleep tonight. Like always.   
The men awkwardly said their good nights, but not before Rich stressed himself out making sure Jake had everything he needed. He didn't, of course, he was still dressed in his work clothes and had nothing to sleep in but his boxers, which he really wasn't comfortable just wearing around his old friend's house anyway. They parted for bed and Jake prepped for what would undoubtably be a long night.

  
Not all of the Goranskis were as small as Rich, but his brother's bed was still a bit too small to accommodate him. Jake was taller than most men, and when he was a kid, he'd been taller than most boys. His feet hung off the edge uncomfortably. He thought about just sleeping on the floor, but he wasn't like he was back when he stayed at this house regularly. Back then, he was so overworked from football practice that he could sleep anywhere, despite the thoughts that even then buzzed in his mind (though at a lesser degree). Now there was no exerting physical work-out to keep him exhausted, so the bed was his best option if he wanted to get even a little bit of sleep that night.

  
As expected, though, his night consisted of mostly lying in the bed in his boxers with his feet dangling over the end of the bed. His thoughts, also as expected, did not cease for even a second.

  
He thought the happiness on Rich's face when he'd decided to stay would quell the awkwardness of being half naked in his former best friend's brother's bedroom, but he supposed he was wrong. Where the hell was he supposed to go from there? Jake knew himself and he knew that once he left Rich, it was a very real possibility that he'd wimp out, delete his number again, and proceed to avoid him, just like he'd done twice before. Though, if he was being honest, he didn't even want to leave. Staying here was awkward, but as the night progressed and he got a few more miffed texts from his loveless wife, his opinion of her soured even more than it already had, which was saying a lot since he quite honestly resented her. He resented himself more, though, for just assuming that you could base a marriage off of a mutual physical attraction. He guess he wasn't thinking straight back then, back in college when he'd met her. Even then, his thoughts persisted like this, and he was just searching for companionship again, and this was a companionship completely detached from all of his old ones, as she hadn't even gone to Middle Borough high. It was only a momentary comfort, though, when they both realized that they had nothing in common. Jake was a bit of a hopeless romantic that needed validation and love, but only wanted it when he felt it was genuine. Gemma liked her space and hated feeling tied down, and was so ungenuine in her love for him that Jake couldn't gain anything from that, so it was mutually unfulfilling. He hated that he'd let his need for another half blind him in choosing a partner, but it was something else, too.

  
No one could fill that void that Rich left behind when Jake detached himself from the relationship. It was never romantic, but it was a closer bond than he'd had with any girl friend, closer than with Chloe Valentine, closer than with Gemma Parks, closer than with any of these women and girls he'd dated. He remembered seeking that out in Christine once, but then he'd made the drunken impulse move of sleeping with Chloe before she could even get close to him. He supposed he wasn't the only one at that wretched party that made a mistake. Even before he left, he sought out Rich Goranski in everybody. And no one compared.

  
He wasn't against the idea of being something more than friends (or now, awkward acquaintances) with Rich, but something told Jake that he wouldn't be good for him. Especially not now when he was probably aching for someone that'd be able to love him in the state his life was in. Rich wasn't the type to make a rejection hurt, but the thought of rejection period frightened him away. It was a vicious cycle of realizing he loved Rich, telling himself that he didn't love Rich, then telling himself that he wasn't even good enough for Rich. Until now, those thoughts had disappeared from his mind when he came to the conclusion that he'd never see the boy again, but now that he was suddenly shoved back into communication with him, it was just another depressing series of feelings and thoughts among millions.

  
Fed up with being still, Jake sat up and checked the digital clock on the bedside table. It was only one in the morning when it honestly felt like he'd done an entire nights worth of grieving. He figured Rich would be asleep, and the bedrooms are so offset from the living room where he sleeps on his couch that he rationalized that he could walk around a bit without disturbing his temporary housemate.

  
Night walks were pretty ineffective in clearing his head at his house, but this was a (sort of) new environment, so there would be a way to busy himself from his thoughts by seeing if anything had changed.

  
He really hoped Rich didn't have the same plan. He didn't want a late night conversation with his old best friend in nothing but his boxers.

  
He inspected Rich's brother's room a bit more. The stuff he used to keep in there was gone, he didn't remember it clearly but he remembered it being sort of a punk rock fantasy, band posters and horror movie memorabilia. His brother moved out long before Rich was in high school, so the younger brother must've taken the initiative to pack it all away himself. It was a standard guest room now, looking very un-lived-in and clean before Jake messed up the bed. There was a small TV on the dresser, but TV never cleared his thoughts. If anything, it made it worse. He hated feeling jealousy towards a sitcom of all things.

  
He moved on to what he remembered was Rich's parents room. Like his parents' room, it was never used and Jake hadn't been in there once. Rich's mother died when he was six, jumpstarting his dad's drinking problem.   
He doubted Rich even went in there, because this room looked like it belonged to parents despite no one sleeping there for probably decades. The bed was made, but there was an ironing board balanced on the wall and a woman's clothes in the closet. Along the dresser and the bedside table sat several family photos. Jake examined each one.

  
On the bedside table was a simple picture of a smiling family of four standing outside. Rich's parents had their hands intertwined and were smiling brightly, their wedding rings shining a little in the sun. His father had his hand on the shoulder of who Jake assumed was their eldest son, who looked to be about six. Balanced on Mrs. Goranski's hip was another little boy, no older than two, with his face buried in his mother's shoulder shyly. Jake smiled warmly. Rich, younger than he'd ever seen him. It was a picture perfect family, really. If this wasn't in Rich's parents room, he probably wouldn't even be able to tell that that was his father at all. The last time Jake saw him, Mr. Goranski was passed out drunk on his couch with a beer in his hand and stubble on his chin. He didn't want to think about how much Rich resembled him when they reunited at the bar.

  
He moved on to the ones on the dresser. There was a photo of Rich's parents on their wedding day. Here, he could see his mother's features better, and it was clear whom Rich inherited most of his face and physique from. She was small, covered in light freckles with a button nose and beautiful hazel eyes. He was kind of sad that he never got to meet her. Rich never spoke about her, but in high school, whenever someone would ask him something regarding his mother, he'd simply say that he didn't have one. Once, Jake asked how old he was when she died, just out of stupid teenage curiosity, and Rich told him that he'd been six, and that he was the one to find her. Hanging. Jake never asked again.

  
The next was of a toddler holding a baby in a staged Christmas photo. Rich and his brother. Even though the last picture had brought him depressing thoughts, he still couldn't resist the smile that tugged on his lips. He was a really cute baby, and probably the most photogenic one he'd ever seen. Jake didn't have any baby pictures. Old girlfriends would beg him to see what he looked like when he was small, but Jake didn't even know what he looked like. Maybe they existed, but his mom and dad certainly never took the time to frame them and put them on their beside table. Saved him the embarrassment, he guessed.

  
The other photos consisted of the Goranskis before Rich was born, and his parents looked noticeably less tired. One time, after an explosive fight with his dad, Rich told Jake that his father told him he was a mistake, that he never even wanted a second son. That shook Rich up more than anything else his dad had ever said to him, and Jake was mortified at how anyone could say that to their own son. He'd forgotten how much he hated Rich's father. 'Good riddance' he thought as he moved on to exit the room.

  
He listened for any telltale signs that Rich was awake. He wasn't sure how he'd explain to him that he wasn't snooping per se, just keeping himself busy. When he had heard enough to decide that he was still asleep on his couch, he made his way into the most familiar room of the house; Rich's.

  
It was almost exactly to same, the twin-sized bed with red gingham bedding, the oak desk with a hutch where his computer was, the TV next to the Xbox that gathered dust. If Jake hadn't lived through seventeen years of mistakes, he would've thought he was back in high school again, comforting Rich while his dad was being insufferable.

  
Jake shut the door quietly and flipped the light on. This place really did bring back memories, though a good chunk of them were spent in a closet or sleeping on a floor. Jake walked up to the neatly folded bed. On it, sat an unfamiliar teddy bear with crutches that held a heart saying "get well soon!" in cursive letters. He checked the tag, and found that it had been from Brooke. He didn't know how many times Rich had been in the hospital since he'd been gone, but he figured it was from after the fire. He set the thing back down where it lay leaned against the pillows, and moved on to check out his desk.

  
It wasn't dusty like the TV and Xbox had been, and a button the computer glowed orange to indicate it was on sleep mode. Random papers where stuffed in the desk's hutch, along with pens and a calculator. Must've been where Rich paid all of his bills. In an empty compartment in the hutch, a framed photo not unlike the ones in the room before lay face down. Jake picked it up, and saw that it was of him and Rich at the sophomore homecoming dance. They both went with girls, neither of which Jake could remember the names of, but they got a picture of just them together in their suits, arms around each other's shoulders, smiling. Now this was a memory that he was in. He smiled fondly, then let it fall when he remembered it'd been face down and dusty. Jake remembered deleting every picture of him and Rich on his phone. It was just a thing you did when the most important person in your life was no longer there; you delete your photos or shove them away somewhere so they can't mock you over how happy you used to be. But he was back, he thought hopefully. Despite the crippling anxiety he felt about this entire thing, he'd made his choice when he ignored Gemma to stay here. It wasn't like just going to dinner where he could, and desperately wanted to, speed off in the opposite direction of Middle Borough. He'd made this choice, and he'd only hate himself more if he didn't follow through.

  
As Jake moved to place the picture back where he found it, a glint of light caught his eye. In the compartment below the one where he'd found the picture, something shiny and silver reflected the room's light, only a bit of it sticking out from under a stack of bills.

  
'Okay," Jake thought, 'this is really pushing the line between looking around and snooping'. But his curiosity won, and he pulled the bills away to find a nine millimeter pistol, looking shiny and almost brand new. Jake fumbled a little to shove it back into the hutch, having never shot a gun in his life and not wanting to any time soon. He thought hard about what he'd just seen, what he'd just felt. It wasn't unusual for someone to own a pistol, certainly not. So why, he wondered, did he have such an enormous sinking pit in his stomach at the mere sight of the gun? Jake began to chalk it up to just nerves from touching something that could kill. He didn't know much about guns, almost nothing really, but he knew that the safety was not on. If it had bullets in it, this thing was ready to fire. He knew he was overreacting, that it wasn't strange to own a pistol. He was psyching himself out over nothing. He was probably just getting tired and confused. Maybe he was finally ready to get back to bed.

  
As Jake turned to leave, he noticed a piece of paper had come dislodged from the desk and was now laying on the carpet at his feet. He picked it up, in that moment reminding himself of the virtues of privacy and how he shouldn't have even been out of his designated room in the first place, when he noticed that it wasn't a bank statement or a bill. It was on loose-leaf paper, pulled from a spiral notebook with the fringes from where it'd been torn away still hanging off the side. On it was a message written neatly in black pen. Jake's conscious kicked him a bit, but he couldn't stop himself from letting his eyes scan over the words.

**To my friends, family, and others,**   
**I know you'll be mad at me, but I really can't manage this anymore.**

Jake felt that sinking pit in his stomach twist violently.

**As I write this, it is Tuesday, October 25th, 2033. I plan to end my life on Halloween night, which is in six days.**

Jake's breath hitched. This was written a day before he met Rich at the bar. Yesterday.

**Now that you know my plans, I'm pretty sure I owe you an explanation.**

**Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not well and I haven't been well for a very long time. Alcohol can only do so much for me, and I really fucking hate the fact that I'm relying on alcohol to even get by in the first place. I look in the mirror and I see my father, and that's something I just can't stomach.**

**I don't have a job, I don't have a family, I don't have anything but an amazing network of friends, and they shouldn't have to live the rest of their lives watching out for me. I'm not important enough for that.**

**Before I go, I want to say my goodbyes, but clearly I couldn't do that in person without someone calling a hospital. I don't want that. The rest of this letter will be my final words to the most important people in my life.**

Jake heard his heart beat in his ears. This was what the gun was for.

**To Jeremy Mell-Heere, I want you to know that you're my best friend. I know I'm not yours, and that's okay. I don't need to be. I'm sorry you only got to really know me after my life went up in flames. Even so, you stuck by me despite all the prior shit I'd done to you, despite the fact that it's my fault you got a Squip. Just remember that it can't hurt you anymore. It's loud, at least, mine is, but you'll always be the one in control. I love you man, take care.**

**To Michael Mell-Heere, you're one of the greatest men I've ever met. You're so genuine and strong, for all of us. You never made me feel like I was a burden or like I couldn't tell you about my problems even though you're dealing with so much on your own. Watch out for him, okay? I know you already do, but there's voices in his head like you wouldn't believe. I know because I've got them too. I just don't have the luxury of an amazing player two to keep them at bay. Watch out for your boyf, riend. Stay cool.**

**To Christine Canigula, you're like my stand-in mom. There aren't words to thank you for how much you've cared for me over the years, for all of us. I know you're not quite there yet, but if there's an afterlife, can't wait until you're up here with me so I can congratulate the best actress on the entire east coast, and everywhere else. Love you, Chris.**

**To Jenna Rolan, I know you're not really the sentimental type, but I hope you know that I love you too. I know you don't think very highly of yourself, but we've both made mistakes and you seemed to come out of it a better person. I should've taken a page from your book while I still could I suppose. I hope you tell everyone that I told you that you're an outstanding woman. I know you will. Stay strong.**

**To Chloe Valentine, you're not as cold as you want us all to think you are. You've made a huge leap from a shallow teenager to my number one defender. We both used to be bad people, but you came out on top of it. You'd kill for each and every one of us, which is why I want to take this page to remind you that this is my choice. So if you want to be mad at anyone, be mad at me, okay? Love you.**

**To Brooke Valentine, please don't feel like this is your fault. I know you will because your heart is so big that whenever something happens to one of us, you feel it twice as hard. That's what we love about you, Brookie. If Christine is like my mom, you're like my sister. And I'm really lucky for that. It's not in your control, Brooke. It's me. There's nothing, nobody on heaven or earth that could keep me from doing this. Never change, Brooke Valentine.**

**To my brother, Tanner Goranski, you're my last living relative, and the only one I have coherent happy memories of. I want you to be the one to organize my funeral. Only invite your family and the people mentioned here, okay? This goes without saying, but you also get the house. Do with it as you wish. If it were me, though, I'd burn this dump to the ground. Love you, bro. Tell the kids and the wife I love them, too.**

Jake's heart stopped beating for what felt like an eternity as his wet eyes scanned the final sentences.

**To Jake Dillinger,  
I'm sorry.**

**-Richard Andrew Goranski.**

The paper shook violently in Jake's hands. This was unfathomable. Even in his current state, he didn't expect... _this_. If he'd been more than six fucking days later, if he hadn't come down to Middle Borough to clear his head, if he hadn't indulged in a whiskey, if he happened to miss Rich at the bar or if he'd pretended like he hadn't seen him and walked away, if he was even slightly delayed by anything on the day prior, he would have woken up six days later, not knowing that Rich Goranski had put a pistol to his head on Halloween night. He wouldn't see it in the obituaries since he didn't get the paper for Middle Borough. His old friends wouldn't contact him because no one had his number anymore. He would go for how long not knowing that Rich had killed himself? For the rest of his life? His stomach felt like there was a hole inside of it, an empty, sinking hole that threatened to kill him where he stood. Was he still planning on killing himself? Surely Jake Dillinger appearing in his life for one day couldn't steer him from this awful decision, what had he wrote? That nobody on heaven or earth could stop him?

  
"You know, you shouldn't look through people's stuff, Jakey D."

  
Jake whipped around forcefully, this time absolutely positive that his heart had stopped. There, in the doorway of his childhood bedroom, stood Rich, looking more embarrassed than anything else, looking down and threading his hands together ashamedly, like he'd just been caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar.

  
Jake hadn't even heard the door open over his own heart beat.

  
"Rich..." he said, but it was no more than a distressed mumble. He wasn't worried about Rich catching him. That was the least of his fucking worries right now.   
Rich bit his nails, still not looking at Jake. He shrugged dismissively, as if he had nothing to say about it, about what they both knew Jake had seen. An uncharacteristic anger overtook him, and he spoke up.

  
"Why did you write this?" Jake's voice cracked. He was trying his damnedest not to break down. His eyebrows furrowed in hurt, like this note was some sort of betrayal. He knew this was irrational, he didn't even know why he was mad. Usually though, whenever Jake was mad at something, he was really mad at himself. That's just how much self-loathing he harbored.

  
Rich gave a bitter smile, tears starting to fall from his eyes. "What do you want me to say?" He finally looked at Jake, the expression on his face looked pained, though he smiled as if he was trying to ease the other man's concerns.

  
Jake softened as he saw that Rich was on the verge of sobbing, knotting his fingers in his hair and tugging. He couldn't be irrationally angry with someone he knew was very seriously considering putting a bullet between their eyes. He couldn't be angry with Rich if he tried. He was angry that he'd caused this. That he'd sent the shockwave that turned Rich into an unfulfilled drunk, a mirror image of his father. Maybe it was conceited to think that he could do all of this, but to this day, Rich spoke of him with his friends. He thought back again to Jeremy's voice mail, how he'd begun to tell him to call Jake up again. Jeremy DID believe that Rich getting better was wholly based on him and if he stayed. In his mind, that suicide note might as well have been Jake's confession to the murder of Rich Goranski.

  
"It's in my head," Rich continued, not yet incoherent from sobbing, but getting there. "It won't go _away_."

  
What wouldn't? What was in his head?

Jake panicked as he saw Rich writhe, hands in his hair and back pressed against the door frame. He moved closer, extending his arm as if to put it around Rich to give him that familiar comfort that was fresh in his muscle memory even after all these years. He hesitated, though and backed off. He didn't know how to help him now. It was so much easier when they were kids and his main objective was consoling Rich after an explosive fight with his father. He had to keep reminding himself that they were strangers, and he'd never felt more detached from this stranger than when he read his note. They lived in different worlds now, punctuated by sadness, very similar but still very, very different. Jake had everything, but he'd take nothing if it meant feeling like he mattered. Rich had nothing but would take anything to feel the same way, even a painless exit. It made Jake wonder if he himself really would like to die, too. Maybe they weren't so distant after all.

  
Jake put his arm around Rich, finally after standing there, unsure of how to move. Rich accepted the comfort and put his head to Jake's chest, sinking into his embrace, both of them all at once forgetting that they hadn't talked in seventeen years before today. Forgetting that they each were the source of each other's unfulfilled lives. Forgetting that they were adults and didn't often go to other adults to cry and be held like they were children.

  
In that moment, they were seventeen-year-old best friends that still needed each other to defend them from the big, scary, adult world, from an empty house, from an angry dad, from all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here, but that when I write about Rich like this, I'm writing about my own experiences dealing with suicide. I dont mean to get dark in the portion of the story usually reserved for my final word on the chapter, but i'd just like you all to know that I'm not writing as an outsider, i'm writing as a clinically depressed person that has composed several suicide notes of their own. Please, if you want to talk, i'm sure i dont have to plug my blog anymore, you all know where to find me for discussions. Thanks for sticking by me through this, and i hope you'll put up with my sparse updates just a while longer until i get ahead with my writing. And if you cant talk to me, random fanfic writer man, find someone you CAN talk to. Sorry for the sentimentality, i just felt like it was serious enough to address.  
> Now then, for the new NEW update schedule since weekly updates with weekends reserved for writing didn't work out, updates will come by either monday, tuesday, friday, or maybe the weekends. Thursdays and wednesdays are my work days, as in like, actual irl job work, so im usually too tired to write after those. Time may be more close to 3 PM, as I know some readers get off school then.   
> I hope you enjoyed, your comments are always welcome.   
> Also, since the writing app i use to compose these indicates bolded letters and italics with *, some of those might be left over, i'm not sure if i got them all. Just ignore them.


	7. Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The healing process begins.

Jake always wanted to feel like he had when he was young. Happy. Beloved. He wanted to be familiar with the rewarding sensation of making girls practically faint in the hallways with just a passing glance. He wanted to feel the smug pleasure of teachers almost, _almost_ scolding him for being late like they would with other kids, then letting their words go when he gave a seemingly earnest apology, saying practice for whatever extra-curricular he'd done that week had gone a little late. He wanted to hear the words of coaches, temporary father figures telling him that they were proud of how well he'd hustled that day. He wanted the things he had in high school.

  
Now he had them, but not the things he wanted. The parts where he consoled the only object of his affections as he wept into his arms, wanting too for a better life than he had.

  
Rich was too despaired to be mortified about being a grown man crying into his estranged best friend's shoulder, inhaling the scent of his bare skin. Jake related, in that all preconceived notions about being professional and distant with Rich crumbled when he found his intentions. This was a jarringly sudden reaction, showing Jake that his suicide was indeed fresh in his mind, and wasn't just an empty platitude, but also not what he wanted. He didn't want to die, but he also didn't want to burden his friends anymore, didn't want to live with whatever was in his head, didn't want to continue being Rich Goranski. He was just lying in wait for someone to stop him, someone that would have never came if Jake Dillinger hadn't run into him at a dive bar.

  
Jake was paralyzed there, holding Rich as he cried, specifically keeping him from using his hands as they moved frequently to violently smack his head in attempt to rid himself of whatever voice troubled him. Rich was open, exposed in front of him, and now, Jake had to do that, too. He never wanted to leave Rich's side again after that note. Earlier, he told himself that he'd eventually have to return to Gemma. Now those childish thoughts told him 'No. I'm never going back.' And he wanted to indulge in that. Stay there, make things right. But how on earth could he fix this? He hesitated to call Rich a mess because it sounded so rude, but wasn't it the truth? Absolutely. Jake didn't fix messes, he only made them, and he'd made this mess, too.

  
"Rich," he mumbled breathlessly. The mass underneath him softened his loud wails to only slightly less loud sobs, as if to let Jake speak. "Was it true?" Was all he could manage. There was a weight on his chest that prevented him from speaking without sounding like he'd just received a full-force blow to the ribcage. In a metaphorical way, he had.

  
"Huh?" The smaller man asked, tears streaming down his face, but all of a sudden making no sound.

  
Jake swallowed. "Were you going to kill yourself on Halloween?"

  
Rich resumed his sounds, cracking and breaking before Jake's eyes as he nodded and curled his lip in misery. Jake's heart squeezed at the sight, the sight of the man he won't admit that loves panic in his arms. He thought that if there was any time for action, it was this time, this moment, and he rose to his feet, trying to take Rich with him, but the man stayed on his knees, hands free and wringing his fingers through his hair, pulling it roughly. Jake urged Rich to rise, putting his hands under his arms and gently pulling him upward until Rich complied.

  
"I'm-I'm s-s-so-sorry," he stuttered, again not caring to hide his speech impediment. "I do-don-don't know why I'm do-doing thi-is." Jake repositions himself so Rich leans on him for support, too emotionally exhausted to stand, speak, to do anything. Jake shushed the apologies, trying to forget that in this depressing moment, Jake's standing in nothing but his boxers with Rich leaning, his soft face flush against bare skin.  
He lead him out the door, easily guiding his small friend on his side. He did his best to clear a path through the floor's clutter, then set Rich down on his beloved couch.

  
He knelt down to Rich's eye level and watched Rich knead at his streaming eyes with the palms of his hands. Jake'd lost his touch with comforting people, as he hadn't in so long, but figured he wasn't too terribly rusty. He comforted himself on a daily basis, this couldn't be any different.

  
"What do you need? Is there any food or drinks in your kitchen?" He asked calmly, grounded, like he was speaking to a child. Dealing with a child was probably easier than the task at hand. This was a grown man, a troubled and pained grown man whom Jake adored.

  
"Mountain Dew Red," he muttered pitifully, but he'd stopped stuttering, so it was easier to read him. He was coming down from his fit of weeping, still crying but also getting embarrassed that he'd even had a fit in the first place and trying to will himself to stop.

  
Jake nodded, and maneuvered his way through the filthy kitchen. He opened the fridge and the soft drink was basically the only thing in there, save for a full six-pack of Corona and a few Chinese takeout boxes that he didn't know the date of, so he wouldn't risk giving them to Rich for comfort. He knew the mindset of an alcoholic, and figured that the only comfort he wanted was booze, but he was shit out of luck if he thought Jake would give a suicidal man a bottle of Corona.

  
He took the soft drink to Rich, putting it in his hands and sitting next to him on the couch, watching him carefully. He'd almost completely come down from his crying spell, though his chest still rose and fell irregularly like he was stifling it, urging himself not to cry. He looked incredibly fragile with his puffy red eyes and shaking form. Even to this day, there truly was no sight nor sound worse than a despairing Richard Goranski, Jake knew it in his heart.

  
Rich was closing up again, receding into the uncomfortable silence that came with two old ex-friends reuniting for the first time in seventeen years. Jake felt as if he had to act, now that Rich had been at least somewhat open with how he felt, breaking down his walls to the point of crying and letting himself be held. Full disclosure time.

  
"I'm scared." Jake stated simply, honestly. Rich looked up at him like a kicked dog, confused and listening intently.

  
Rich didn't pry, like he'd used to shut down and shut up after these moments of comfort in high school. But Jake pressed on, having gotten Rich's attention and not wanting to turn back on yet another confession that night.

  
"I'm... I'm scared that I'm only going to make things harder for you." To Jake's surprise, Rich gave sort of a bitter chuckle at that, as if to say 'that's impossible, but go on'.

  
"Because I don't know how to help myself right now." Jake finished, staring intently at his hands. It was the realest thing he said since he'd been here. And it was all true. He was terrified of this, especially now. Before, he was scared for himself, scared that he'd become infatuated with Rich to the point of no return. Now, he was scared that at any second, Rich would get the gun and just disappear, for real this time.

  
Jake continued, rambling and outpouring now that he'd let just a little slip out. Might as well go all the way.

  
"All day, all the time it's like there's this... thing in my head and it won't shut up. My wife doesn't love me, and _I_ don't love me, and everything's so fucked up but I keep pretending that it's not and I want to be happy but then I think about how it's not the same because you're not around, and I-" his breath hitched.

Awesome. Now _he_ was going to cry. He had a lot of experience with this, though, and bit it back before tears could fall.

  
He saw that Rich was looking at him with his eyebrows furrowed in thought, before the smaller man reached out to put a hand on Jake's hands that held his head as he held back his sadness. He took his right hand into his, and held it a little, not intimately, but close enough that Jake felt his insides twist, not with dread like they had when he'd read the note, but with infatuation like they had when Rich's eyes bore right into him like they knew he wasn't happy. This was the straw that broke his back, and a flood of tears pushed past his eye's dams and he was crying, and Rich was crying, and everything was horrible yet necessary, sitting there and letting his stupid feelings overtake him on Rich's couch, with Rich's hand, with Rich again for the first time in seventeen fucking years.

  
"Oh god," Jake bawled, grabbing his hair with his left hand and holding onto Rich for dear life with his other. "Oh god, oh god, oh god." He repeated plainly, simply, like it was the only phrase he knew. It might as well have been, and he wished it was, for the only other words still fresh in his mind were the ones he wanted to avoid having to say for the rest of his life.

  
'I love you, Richard Goranski.'

  
"I want you in my life again," Rich lamented, holding onto Jake like he was his only lifeline. In a way, he was. "I don't wanna die, Jake."

  
Jake nodded vigorously, still crying, leaning on Rich's smaller frame, too exhausted now to keep himself up on his own. "I don't want that either, Richie. I'd never want that."

  
For what seemed like forever, and if it wasn't, they'd be okay with it being forever, the two men leaned on each other, hand in hand as the hour hand on the clock struck three in the morning, together again without any facades or any masks, without the veil of professionalism or any compromising voices telling them what to do. They were open and vulnerable and afraid and sad, but together.

  
This was a heinous night, but it was one that they shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one, definitely short compared to the last one, but I think it's alright, and i hope you will too.  
> I'm extremely behind on updates I'd just like you to know, so please do bare with me for these next chapters.  
> Ive noticed while i was writing for the first time that i tend to switch between past and present tense a lot, so if you notice any of that, please call it out, I admire criticism as much as i do nice comments. Well, maybe not AS much, but they are important!  
> I'm Starvom on tumblr if you want to talk, otherwise, comments are extremely appreciated. Enjoy!


	8. In a Perfect Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake wakes up, but he still dreams.

In another life, in a different reality, they wake up, entangled in each other's arms. It's enough to make Jake cry again as he imagines a perfect reality, a reality he doesn't know, but still has the right mind to dream about.

  
In a perfect reality, they're not in Middle Borough anymore. When they graduated high school with fantastic grades and magna cum laude honors on their diplomas, they go somewhere, like Chloe and Brooke went somewhere. They go to Jersey City and start a life there, because their lives never parted.

  
In a perfect reality, they wake up in Jersey City in a king sized bed like they do every morning, having slept close, not on opposite sides of the bed, holding each other in their arms, not to comfort each other from mental breakdowns or crying fits but just because they're best friends and they've been together for almost two decades.

  
In a perfect reality, Jake wakes up and he makes coffee, and Rich waits for him, tired but not because he'd just spent the night drowning his sorrows in booze. The only booze they know is the booze they drink when they kick back with friends, with Jeremy and Michael and Christine and Jenna and if they're in town, Brooke and Chloe too.

  
In a perfect reality, Jake Dillinger doesn't wake up on Richard Goranski's shitty old couch in shitty old Middle Borough, New Jersey, cradling him in his arms like he's a fragile, stubble-chinned child. He doesn't wake up with his eyes hurting from how much he rubbed him, and he doesn't have the embarrassing notion of having cried himself to sleep in a place that's familiar yet unfamiliar all the same. He doesn't wake up to his cell phone's ringtone chiming from two rooms away where last night he found Rich's suicide note and matching nine millimeter pistol with which he intended to end his life. No, perfect reality Jake Dillinger doesn't have to deal with any of this shit.

  
'Lucky him' Jake thought as he attempted to untangle Rich from his waist without waking him. He didn't remember precisely how last night ended, only that it was tearful and emotional and rewarding. Incredibly painful even now, but still rewarding. Rich stirred, grumbling a little bit but detangling himself from Jake on his own, laying back down on the opposite side ofthe couch, an irritated look on his closed eyes.

  
"Sorry," Jake muttered dumbly, excusing himself from the couch without another word to answer his phone.

  
It was still on Rich's bed. Last night he was using it as a flashlight to see as he snooped rudely through Rich's baby pictures. He should be ashamed of himself, he figured, but he also reasoned that if he knew how to mind his own business, he would've left without ever knowing that Rich had plans. Horrible plans. He shook his head like he did every morning that his mind jumpstarts into this detrimental way of thinking and grabbed and answered the phone as it reached its last ring. Gemma.

  
"He-"

  
"Fucking _finally_!" She didn't let him finish his greeting, probably having prepared her belittling speech over and over in her head the following night.

  
Jake sighed and sat on Rich's bed, numbing himself to the imminent berating. He definitely felt far away from his perfect reality now.

  
There was a beat of silence as Jake decided not to even speak, because there was nothing to say. Going out with his friends was one thing, but the entire night? How could he explain that? That instead of helping his suicidal quasi-friend to the hospital where he could get proper help from a man or woman that actually had their shit together, he instead brought him soft drinks and cried like a child with him until they fell asleep? That'd only fuck things up more.

  
"Who the fuck do you think you are, Jake Dillinger? You're _married_ , you can't just fucking go out on the town for the whole night without telling anybody!" She was approaching shrieking volume, but when you fall out of love with someone, every sound they make is shrill and unwelcome.

  
Jake paused for a minute, seriously considering telling her that him staying was a life-or-death thing, but he was just too tired for this, for any of this.

  
"Sorry." He said for the second time that morning, only this time it wasn't genuine. He had more sincerity in apologizing for waking up his estranged best friend than he had apologizing to his wife, and if that didn't speak volumes about the state his life was in, nothing could.

  
Rich peered in the doorway, checking up on Jake who'd so suddenly left, probably not wanting the other man to be in his room anymore after the events that preceded. He attempted to busy himself by picking up garbage that stretched all the way from the living room to the bedrooms. He wanted to help Rich clean while he was here, however long it would be. Jake smiled a little at the thought of them cleaning the house together, like this was Jake's home too. His smile faded when he remembered that was not the case, and that he was currently in the middle of being chastised by the woman he actually lived with. An unfavorable, unfortunate reality.

  
"Un-fucking-believable. You're in deep shit, Jake. I bet you were out with some fucking woman, or one of your deadbeat friends-"

  
"Yeah, and how would _you_ know what kind of friends I even have?" That "deadbeat" line struck a nerve and he took on an accusatory tone, standing up and clenching his free fist in anger. Rich peered in again, cowering a little, but morbidly curious about the conversation at hand. "You don't even fucking _talk_ to me!"  
He could see the incredulous look on her face now. Despite how whipped he was by her usually, they did fight occasionally, but Jake never had anywhere to go away from it, nowhere to storm off to, so he'd concede and let her feel like she'd browbeaten him into submission yet again. Not this time, apparently.

  
"Fuck you, Jake." And with that, she hung up.

  
Jake grit his teeth, clenching them together to stop himself from screaming. This was frustrating and painful and it happened often. Extremely often. Even when he had happy moments, even when life spared him a little and gave him these small comforts (though he was currently in the presence of a huge comfort that he barely even registers as being such, since the majority of their interactions have been sad, but he's opening up so it must be so) he was still suffocated by her role in his life. He really did detest her, no matter how much he wanted to believe that she was a decent woman, just not with him. He knew that she wanted a divorce just as much as he did, but he also knew things about her because she was (regrettably) his wife, and so he knew that she'd rather die than give up her nice lawn or her stuck-up neighbors. Jake made money, and even though she was pretty, she'd be lucky to find an eligible, decent bachelor that was as loaded as Jake Dillinger. It was embarrassing, he felt so used and worthless beyond his wealth. He was trapped, and not even Rich's somewhat comforting presence could save him from that. If he did make an attempt at a divorce, she'd probably take a hefty amount of his things with her. If it weren't for his pride, that would be fine since he didn't even care for big houses or nice lawns anyway. But it always came back to Jake not being willing to forfeit the little dignity he had. And that dignity was in owning a house that the woman he loathed would not live in without him.  
He turned to find that Rich was in the doorway, looking a little concerned.

  
"Domestic dispute?" He half-joked, but couldn't hide how he cowered a little from Jake, knowing an angry, potentially violent man when he saw one. From experience. Depressing.

  
Jake suddenly realized again that he was only in his underwear, standing in Rich's bedroom after having the beginning of a heated fight with his wife. He chuckled a bit, still boiling on the inside, but presently aware of being half-naked in front of a man he barely knew anymore. Could he even say that he barely knew Rich now? After you read another man's deeply intimate and personal and frightening thoughts on paper, it's kind of hard to say that you're strangers. God, he wanted to stop being strangers with Rich as soon as possible. This awkward fumbling was going to make him explode.

  
He ran his hand through his hair. Nodding, smiling rather unconvincingly.

  
"It happens." Jake said, dismissively, looking only at Rich because he'd made it a point not to look over at his desk. They needed to address that eventually, address it more than just asking if he was seriously considering. That was just one more awkward conversation that'd only serve to make him depressed, though, so he'd hold off on it. By now, he'd definitely decided to stick around. 'You win, Jeremy' he thought as he subconsciously went over ways to keep visiting Rich without making Gemma lose her shit at him every time. He didn't even want to think about her anymore, burnt out on Gemma Dillinger for the day. His name always sounded so wrong plastered behind hers.

  
"Hey, you smoke?" Jake asked, changing the subject. He himself did not smoke regularly, but it was one of those things like alcohol or coffee where if he could get one, he'd take one, but wouldn't actually seek it out unless the thoughts became unbearable. And they sure were.  
Rich nodded, awkwardly stepping away from Jake's sight to retrieve a pair of worn jeans from the clothes basket he was fretting with while Jake made his call. The pants he wore to the bar, probably. There wasn't much in Rich's clothes basket, and Jake realized kind of grimly that Rich probably didn't change or wash his clothes often. Everything he'd worn around him looked at the very least wrinkled, but he was actively trying to do them now, which gave Jake a bit of hope. Someone ready to die probably didn't bother with clothes. Maybe he was looking into it too much, but this was progress. Rich picking up after himself was progress.

  
He pulled out a carton of classic Marlboros and took one for himself and one for Jake, handing the stick to the taller man and lighting his with a plain grey lighter then passing it to the other. They didn't go outside to do it, just stayed there quietly in Rich's room, letting the smoke fill the space as they stared out the window. The sun was rising, and Jake needed to head into work soon. But for now, he had time for it to be just him, Rich, a carton of cigarettes, and a looming silence. It was almost nice.

  
"Do you work today?" Rich inquired after a while, when their cigarettes were on their last legs.

  
"Yep," Jake said, popping the 'p' and taking one final drag of his Marlboro. "Do you, uh..."

  
"No, I don't work." Rich looked almost demure at that, scratching his head with the fingers of his hand that didn't hold his cigarette, resting his tongue between the gap in his teeth. "When my dad was alive, he withheld my mom's will for me and my brother from us, but...you know."

  
Jake was almost positive that whatever will his mother had left him couldn't have been enough to last from the time Rich's dad died to now. The thing about Rich bucking up and doing his laundry had got him thinking. He wanted to also make Rich get a job someday. If Rich was anything like he used to be, which many things indicated that he was, it'd be hard because high school Rich was _stubborn_. He smiled again. His thoughts were being a little too domestic, but that was worlds better than the pessimism they'd displayed just a day ago. It dawned on him then, that all of this had happened within the span of a fucking day. Maybe he needed to back off a bit.

  
Jake checked the time on the wall clock sitting above Rich's dusty TV. 6:59.  
The drive back to Woodbridge from Middle Borough wasn't too terribly long, but Jake figured he'd have his work cut out for him today, fending off brand new thoughts, like Rich's suicide, Rich's living situation. Rich. Getting there early probably wasn't too bad an idea. He'd compensate for his lack of focus by adding an extra hour onto his work time.

  
"I should get dressed," Jake muttered, not happy with the notion of leaving Rich alone, especially not after...

  
Rich eyed him rather apprehensively.

"Don't you want some different clothes?" He asked, and Jake stifled the urge to say 'you're one to talk'.

  
"No offense, but I don't think we're the same size." He retorted, feeling a little happy he'd gotten the confidence to fit at least one semi-sarcastic remark in their dialogue. They're warming up to each other again, and no wonder. No matter what happened, the last time they'd spoken together before yesterday, they were best friends. Maybe it wouldn't be impossible to rebuild that bond.

Eventually, though, before any of that could happen, they'd have to address the elephant in the room. Not now though. Not yet.

  
Rich smirked a little, getting a taste for that high school playfulness they maintained with each other so long ago. He turned to leave, then called back from the hallway as he made his exit to let Jake go into his brother's room to change.

  
"You want coffee?"

  
Might as well take another vice, Jake figured. Plus, he didn't get much sleep last night. "Yes please. Black," he responded. Before he exited Rich's room, he made a ballsy move, grabbed the pistol from where it still sat on Rich's desk, turned on the safety, and rushed into Rich's brother's room, locking the door behind him.

  
Jake pressed his back to the door, holding the thing shakily in his big hand. Despite knowing that it wouldn't go off, it felt like a time bomb in his hands, like his entire world rested in the fate of this inanimate object. He wasn't sure what his end game was here, would he remove the bullets? No, he didn't know how to remove the bullets. Plus, Rich probably had more, and he only needed one to...

  
He swallowed hard, depositing it onto Rich's brother's bed, trying not to stare at it as he pulled on the same outfit he wore yesterday. It probably smelled bad from all the anxious sweating he'd done during dinner with his old classmates, but it didn't really matter. There were much more pressing matters on his mind. He stared at the thing as he pulled on his shirt, buttoned it. As he attempted to tie his tie without looking. As he almost fell on his ass like an idiot trying to pull his pants on while watching the gun like it'd start firing off at any second. He would not, he decided, let the object of his friend's potential death remain here. Despite how uncomfortable he felt with the gun close to him in any capacity, he shoved it in his work pants' pocket, purposefully leaving his shirt untucked as to hide it from Rich. His mouth was dry and his head kind of hurt, but that wasn't unusual, not in the presence of Rich Goranski.

  
He found his way back into the kitchen where Rich sat, looking rather small among the garbage and long-legged kitchen table, clutching his coffee cup in both hands across from him was Jake's. He let himself sit down for just a moment before he left for work, praying that Rich wouldn't see the stolen gun. If he did, he didn't say anything and they drank in silence, and for once, it wasn't awkward. Jake still hated it, because he hated silence in any mood, but it indulged his perfect reality a little bit, a domestic fantasy.

  
When Jake stood to leave, Rich finally looked up from where his eyes were fixated on his mug.

  
"Ha-have a good day at work," the words must've felt strange to say, because they were strange to hear. Jake never had anyone wish him well, and Rich never had anyone to wish well.

  
"I will. Thanks." He stood for a moment at the doorframe, wanting to say something more than a trite 'thanks'.

  
"I'll see you tonight. I don't know when, just tonight.

  
Rich's face flushed, and Jake was a little proud that he'd caught him off guard like that. If he could find a way, he was going to come back. He'd settled that argument with himself when he was entangled in Rich's arms last night. All Rich could do was nod, an almost goofy grin tugging at his lips. At a loss for words, he waved, and Jake was out the door.

  
He wondered if Rich would still be smiling if he found out that Jake stole and threw his gun into his car's glovebox and locked it with a resounding sense of success (and maybe a little smugness). Probably not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ the beautiful commenter that was casually preparing to stab Gemma, now would be your chance my friend  
> Also title drooop (i think thats the second one)  
> Back to my regular chapter length, if not a little bit short. This is kind of a boring chapter, a lot of Jake's inner monologue, because next chapter is going to be more from my boy Rich's point of view, since i dont know how to write about an office job and i'm sure you dont want to read about one. Im not even sure what he does, really...  
> Anyway! I'm starvom on tumblr if you want a more in depth chat, but if you just wanna tell me how i did, comments are very appreciated.  
> Hope you enjoy!


	9. Never Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich's oldest friend puts him back in his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another suicide heavy chapter, read at your own discretion. The Squip's words (or are they just rich's thoughts ooooo) are indicated by italics.

From the moment his father's house became his own, Rich kept his bedroom preserved. Nowhere else, just his bedroom, the only room that was ever actively his. He could trash the living room, put away his brother's horror merchandise, but to touch and ruin the only place he ever called his own? Impossible. From the navy blue painted walls to every article of clothing he owned since the eleventh grade, he kept it like it was some sort of museum exhibit, an exhibit of his life when things were good. Well, not good, but nowhere near the pitiful caliber of his life now. He'd go there only to pay bills or regress as far back as he could into a state of mind where he still slept in his bed, not his couch. Where he played his Xbox and turned the volume up all the way so he didn't have to hear his dad's raucous, drunken speeches at the living room television. Where he and Jake Dillinger held each other and hid from the rest of the world. If he closed his eyes, sometimes he could pretend that Jake was there with his big, strong arms engulfing him like that was what they were made to do. Sometimes he could pretend that he hadn't burnt down his house or shattered his legs. Sometimes he could pretend that he'd never made the biggest mistake of his life and never was forced to fundamentally change everything about himself to the point where he was certain that freshman Rich would be appalled at the monster, the animal he'd let himself become.

Sometimes he could pretend that the fire claimed his life, and he was just ashes in the ground like he'd wanted to be for so fucking long.

  
All he could do was pretend.

  
Now, he didn't have to. And it was terrifying. Jake Dillinger was terrifying. Rich recalled that when you were friends with a guy like him, it was like you were behind a permanent, unbreakable wall of power that no one, bully nor Squip could topple. But when you were enemies, or even just strangers with Jake Dillinger, he was intimidating, like he could crush your ego and your heart between his thumb and pointer finger. Of course, this wasn't the case and Jake would never willingly hurt anyone, but it was a metaphorical thing, a feeling. Rich felt it as a freshman and he felt it as an adult, but was unimaginably relieved that he'd even gotten the chance to feel it again in the first place. Fate brought Jake to his doorstep, intimidating and successful and beautiful and perfect and somehow not completely despising even the sight of him. The only thing Rich had ever wanted was there, and coming back after work tonight. He'd even gotten to see Jake vulnerable, like they were still friends that could let themselves be vulnerable in front of each other. They weren't, they were still very distant, but that was better than not being together at all. He was still fucking crazy for Jake Dillinger.

  
_You've really guilted him into liking you again, I'm impressed._

  
Rich clenched his jaw, still in the process of finishing the coffee he'd brewed for himself. His heart was doing summersaults in his chest, but his mind was aching in that familiar way, swarming with dehumanizing thoughts and voices seemingly trying to sway him more and more towards just blowing his brains out. And he would. He definitely would, and that was his plan until Jake wiggled his way back into his heart, never having left in the first place. It was a completely valid reason to stay alive.

He could hear Jeremy now; 'You shouldn't stake your happiness on a guy that doesn't even talk to you anymore'. He never would, because Jeremy was his good friend, but he kind of wanted to tell his good friend to stick it, because Jake Dillinger was here! He was here and he was staying! And everything would be okay again and he'd crumple up that shitty note and throw away his gun and they'd start a life together and-

  
_Moron. You should know better._

  
Rich's stomach dropped. His swelling heart was done away with to make room for that crippling anxiety as the voice in his head reminded him that he was being irrational. It prompted him to look around himself, the clutter that practically carpeted the wooden floors, the counters, the kitchen table. He'd had to move ten pounds of random shit just so Jake could sit and drink his coffee. This stuff had been on shelves once, but in a fit of panic and rage he couldn't quite remember, he threw it all to the floor and never bothered to pick it up, lest it happen again. Who in their right mind would want to start a life with someone who lived like this?

  
Rich made an anxious keening noise, standing up to busy his trembling hands by picking up some odds and ends, putting them in places they didn't belong just so he could get the clutter out of his sight. He bet rats lived here. Jake must've thought the same. He was so much smarter, so much more intuitive than Rich, he could just imagining the big-shot businessman of his dreams scrutinizing his shitty living situation. It reflected his life perfectly.

  
His cleaning spree only served to stress him out more, and when a bottle he thought looked empty actually spilled its last drops on his feet and floor, he felt unreasonably upset and moved back to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle from the brand new six pack of Corona he'd bought last night in case the dinner was abysmal and he needed to drown himself and his thoughts again. He unscrewed the bottle and took a generous gulp as the ever-persistent voice in his head gave a parting message before the alcohol made its words fuzzy and unintelligible.

  
_Just like your father. Just like him, just like him._

  
Rich made his way into his bedroom, forever his sanctuary, still clutching the bottle in his hand and drinking from it periodically.

  
He looked to his feet. Sometime during the events of last night, his note had fluttered to the floor. Not daring to touch it, he kicked it under his bed to deal with later. He still wasn't sure if he should discard it or not.

  
He didn't want to die. He really didn't. He loved hanging with Jeremy and Michael and the girls, and he didn't want to envision them and his brother crying over his closed casket, sealed shut as to spare everyone the sight of his blown open head. Would they even cry? Cry for Richard Goranski, Richard Goranski who frequently called them to pick him up after he'd been forced out of the bar for his drunken misdemeanors, who consistently refused therapy or rehab and worried them to death, who couldn't let go of a teenage crush that'd probably never be fulfilled because his teenage crush had a wife and an existence that didn't deserve to be tainted by a drunk that was so bogged down with volatile thoughts that he was out of it most of the time? They loved him, his friends, but there was no doubt in Rich's mind that they'd be better off without him.

  
He sighed through his nose, having half-finished his beer. He looked to the outdated 2030 calendar on his wall. October 27th. Four days until Halloween, four days until he planned to do it. It seemed symbolic at the time, to kill himself on the day he tried to kill himself seventeen years ago. Now he wasn't even sure he wanted to. He was scared out of his mind of finally getting to meet his maker, but felt it necessary if he was never going to improve. Death and whatever came after was nothing compared to living the rest of his life in squalor, dreaming of a better world but waking up to find nothing but alcohol and shame. Jake wasn't the type to toy with people's emotions, but Rich wouldn't blame him if he decided it was more than he could handle. Like he said last night, Jake's life was not as glamorous as Rich had thought. Was it true? That Jake's life had been altered for the worse when he decided to leave Rich and the rest of their friends behind? Rich knew it was true for himself, but could never imagine that he could make Jake feel empty, Jake who had everything that Rich didn't. And his wife, he'd eavesdropped in on a brief heated phone argument between the two, plus Jake said she didn't love him, could there be a chance...? How anyone could not love Jake Dillinger in the first place was baffling. That man had abandoned him (with good reason, but still) and set off a chain of misery with his going, and Rich was still crazy for the one they used to call awesomeness personified.

  
He was at his desk now, and moved to pick up the face-down picture of Jake and him on homecoming night. The suit was two sizes too big for him, another hand-me-down from his brother. If he could warn his past self, he would. He'd go to 14 year old Rich with his dorky round glasses and stupid hair cut without a streak of red in it and tell him just to never change. Even though he'd continue to be mocked and shoved and in pain, it was so, so much better than this. He wouldn't have had the confidence to talk to Jake, but maybe that wouldn't have been such a bad thing. Then Jake could live his life without worrying about the whereabouts of a homely drunk, and Rich wouldn't be one in the first place.

  
He put the picture down. His room for once brought him no comfort. Alcohol brought him no comfort. Now that he'd felt what it was like to have Jake Dillinger care about him again, that was the only comfort he wanted. He really had staked his recovery on a man he hadn't seen in years.

  
_Stupid._

  
The voice in his head provided sparse words, ever present even when it wasn't supposed to be. He wondered if it really was the Squip sometimes, or if he'd just grown to replace silence in his head with constant ridicule because it was all he knew, and it was comforting. It'd tell him to even out his posture, correct his lisp, stop staring at Jake Dillinger like he wanted his hands all over him forever. But since he didn't work, since he wasn't constantly surrounded by people that he needed to impress, it changed from an advisor to a tormentor, just like it had in junior year when he decided he couldn't take anymore of this hating himself. He'd gotten the thing because he was suicidal, and the Squip made him realize that things could be a lot worse, and they were.

  
He moved to take another drink of his beer but there was nothing. He'd drank an entire bottle and felt nothing, not even a little buzzed. Certainly not enough to ease his nerves. In a fit of rage, he reeled back and smashed the bottle on the floor, glass exploding and falling around him like sharp water. He hated how weak he'd become. Relying on booze just to handle his copious anxieties. He used to be strong. He used to be able to handle his father alone until he could get out, he used to take the blows and the screams and the ridicule. Now he felt no better than his bottle of beer, easily shattered and useless sitting on the ground in pieces with nothing inside. He pressed his back to the wall and sank to the ground, running his fingers through his hair over and over, grabbing and pulling at it with frustration.

  
_Poor Jake. Now he's got to come here and deal with you, pick up your mess. His life is hard enough, how could you be so selfish?_

  
"Stop." Rich commanded even though he knew it would not obey. He didn't need this.

  
_I think you mean stop, but sure, let's go with that, "thtop". He probably can't even stand to listen to you._

  
It mocked him down to his last detail. It couldn't shock him anymore, but it was expert in making him feel like garbage. But then again, it didn't take much to make him feel like that. Every day it was the same, and he was mostly used to it by now. But Jake's sudden appearence had changed things, and now he felt compelled to listen to it again. The invisible boogeyman in his head, while toxic and unkind, had once made him popular, beloved, only with the cost of trampling over everyone else in order to get there. Oh yeah, Jeremy and Michael definitely would not cry for him, that he was certain. No matter how much they said they forgave him, it meant nothing. There were very distinct and very painful prices that came with taking a Squip, and he was living with them to this day. He looked to his closet for a distraction that he knew would only serve to make things worse, but he didn't care. Sitting, buried at the very back of his closet, folded nicely and bright red in the darkness, was one of Jake Dillinger's jackets, folded over a shirt and some jeans.

  
It was weird, wasn't it? That he'd kept this shit? In high school, he and Jake stored clothes at each others houses for when they needed each other on a whim, needed to stay the night for each other and have a change of clothes the next morning. Rich had far more clothes stored in Jake's house than Jake did at his, but all of those clothes were long gone, unrecognizable ashes that blew away on the windy November morning after the fire he made destroyed his best friend's childhood home. He wondered, though, if Jake would have kept those clothes if there was no fire, but then realized bleakly that if there was no fire, they'd still be close and Jake would have no reason to leave Rich's clothes behind.

  
He bent down to pick up the jacket, promptly bombarded with thoughts about how fucking weird this was, especially now that Jake was seemingly back in his life. But this was a comfort item, and it had been ever since they were friends. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend they were dating or something, and he'd had permission to wear Jake's jacket because that was what people who dated did. Not like he remembered what that felt like. Once, four years ago, Jenna had tried to set him up with one of her party friends. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work. He didn't work to impress her, and so she wasn't impressed. He'd work, he'd change, he'd become a whole new person to impress Jake Dillinger. Maybe that was his motivation to stay alive.

  
_It won't happen. We tried to change you, remember? You can't change. Your dad never changed, and you're basically him now, right?_

  
Rich inhaled the jacket to fill his mind with the scent of Jake in high school (okay, really feeling creepy now) to shut the voices up for just a moment. It was clean, but it still smelled familiar, like Axe body wash and his friend's old home. In adulthood, he'd shed that unprofessional and teenager-esque scent for something kind of more adult. It was nice.

Everything about Jake was neat, clean shaven, and pleasant to the senses. Different from high school, where even though he was every girl (and probably every guy's) dream man, he still was young and immature and maybe even the slightest bit unsure of himself, thinking Axe body spray was enough to mask an entire football practice's worth of sweat and dirt. Rich smiled faintly. They were all so dumb back then, even perfection smelled like teenage desperation and rubber football field grass.

  
He held the jacket close, rocking on his heels as he let the warm sun through his window engulf him, and he could almost pretend that Jake was in that jacket, and they were balanced on each other under the growing warmth of the morning sun. He'd stopped denying it a long time ago. He was in love, utterly obsessed with yet another thing he couldn't have. Just like he was in love with the thought of being beloved enough to have people love you even after you did some crazy shit like burn down a high school god's house, or the thought of someone calling child protective services and hooking him up with some real parents. Unattainable things seemed to be the only things that enticed Rich.

  
_You always were so hopeless, Richard._

Rich clutched the jacket close, grinding his teeth together as he attempted to fend off the voices again. It was going to be okay, he assured himself. He was going to become okay.

  
_Hopeless, hopeless. Helpless, helpless._

  
It chanted at him like a schoolyard rhyme, mocking him, pointing and laughing in his head. He was crying now, another thing he did way more frequently than he used to. He felt like more of a child than he was when he was an actual child.

  
_You're no man._

  
Rich screamed like he'd been stabbed, gripping his hair with both hands and dropping to his knees, jacket fluttering to the ground next to him.

  
"Get out, get out, get out!" He smacked violently at his head, pulling and grabbing one second, then pounding on it the next. This was not unusual for him. Once, the neighbors called the police, thinking that he was being seriously hurt and not just in the middle of a nasty breakdown. They accepted it eventually as a regular occurrence, and no one ever called on his behalf again. He wished they'd take him away, take him to a place for maniacs to go to get mind-numbing drugs and pills that would make him a mumbling old fool, but would at least kill the thoughts in his head. He just wanted it to end. Jake Dillinger, as amazing as he was, could never stop this. Suicide was looking like a very real option again.

  
_Do it. Do it. Fucking do it._

  
Pressed and panicking, he slammed his hand onto his desk and pulled himself up on shaky knees. Forget symbolism. He just wanted out, out, out of this. He shoved the neatly stacked papers onto the floor, taking them and various office and filing supplies with them, the clutter falling to the ground noisily. He pulled things from the hutches, bank statements, files, pencil holders, everything went to the floor in a torrent of things that didn't matter. The picture of him and Jake clunked to the floor, the frame cracking and small pieces of glass joining the glass from his previously shattered beer bottle.

  
"Where is it?" He screeched, frustration and sadness and red hot anger boiling inside of him like an active volcano. He pulled his hair out in clumps, dirty blonde strands falling to the ground which was quickly becoming a testament to his misery, scattered papers, a broken picture frame, a shattered Corona bottle, the jacket of his high school sweetheart. He sifted through the ruins of what used to be his desk, trying to feel cold metal to press against his head and destroy his thoughts for good. It was nowhere to be found, though, and Rich resorted to smacking his temple on the corner of the desk as the voices only grew louder.

  
_HOPELESS. HELPLESS._

  
It was only eight in the fucking morning.  
'Don't come back, Jakey,' he thought amongst the haze, his rational thoughts barely a whisper under the ones that urged him, humiliated him, hated him. 'Please don't come back.'

  
He almost resented Jake for leaving him alone to do this by himself, even though it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his job. His presence probably wouldn't stop this anyhow.

  
After all, Richard Goranski was never alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DID YALL SEE THE BOOTLEG? IM WEAK  
> But anyway, i dont have much to say on this one, just that Rich is suffering and that's my fault and i'm sorry  
> But! I hope you enjoyed. I'm starvom on tumblr if you want to talk one on one (im especially down to talk after that sweet bootleg, we are truly blessed)  
> Enjoy!


	10. Vices, Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake leaves his house and finds his home instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for domestic abuse.  
> This one's waaay longer than the others, strap in kids  
> Also i really dont like this chapter but ive kept you waiting for too long so have it just have this mess

Work was never any trouble for Jake. While most working adults dragged themselves to their desks, dreading the fact that they'd be here for another eight hours, Jake was happy to be somewhere where he was busy. Plus, he was getting paid handsomely just for coming to the one place he had a purpose in. The one place where people still praised him for a job well done. It was no chore.

  
Today was different.

  
Anxieties picked at him like they never had before. Of course he was depressed and of course that affected work from time to time, but he could never really say that he was anxious to get home. Probably because before, he didn't have a very clear and defined obligation besides going home and pretending he loved his wife. Now his obligations were very clearly defined in his head: go to your childhood best friend's house and make sure he's not dead. That was pretty important.

  
He'd been thinking all day about how exactly he was supposed to make things happen. He'd never been very absent in his home (not physically at least), so it was easy for him to see that Gemma would get on his ass about it the moment he didn't come home for dinner. She probably thought he'd taken a lover, but it was more like he'd taken a shift at the hospital. This was dire and she just couldn't understand the debts he felt he owed to Rich, and then some. This was more for his personal gain than anyone's and though it was selfish, he'd rather be labeled a self-centered douche taking advantage of a mentally ill man's love in order to get rid of his own violent thoughts and urges than, well, have to continue dealing with those violent urges. That was what he told himself, at least. Gotta stay cold, distant, self-sufficient old Jake Dillinger. It was easier that way.

  
But was it really? It seemed so much more simple, so effortless to just get down on his knees and tell Richard Goranski that he was madly, stupidly, impossibly in love with him. Though there were real consequences and reasons why he couldn't do that, he thought maybe it'd be rewarding to be irrational for once. Let go. Pretend for however many blissful hours that he didn't have a wife, pretend that he still knew how to love correctly, pretend that Rich was his to keep. The word 'pretend' seemed to make a consistent appearance in his vocabulary nowadays.

  
He sighed at his desk, leaned back in the leather desk chair and looked out the window, overlooking the town he now called home. It sure didn't feel like home. As shitty of a place as Middle Borough was, it was *his* place, and he could never stray too far away from it without feeling uneasy. That's why despite all of his money, he still lived in a nowhere place like New Jersey. He checked his watch. Seven o'clock on the dot. Though the work day was over, there was still much work to be done. He clocked out and for once, wasted no time in making the drive back home to Gemma. Though she wasn't really what he was going there for, it was still a strange feeling to want to leave work in the first place.

  
As he drove past the identical beige houses of his development, he took a minute to think of what he'd say to the two people he absolutely had to interact with tonight. He wasn't sure which would be harder. Gemma was a vice, a vice with teeth like an animal that was this close to snapping its jaw shut around him the moment he said something that displeased her. Rich was a candle, and one that was about to blow out on him, it felt like his flame would die any moment if Jake wasn't there, right there to cup it and keep it safe. Only he had big, stupid hands that didn't know how to protect a dying candle and might do more harm than good. In his mind, they could not be more different, but in a way they were both the same. Dire and fragile and getting fed up with his bull shit at rapid-fire speeds. He felt dread in his stomach somewhere, like something was about to happen. How, god, did he let this become his life? High school Jake sure had nothing much to look forward to. If only adult Jake could go back in time and tell himself that.

  
'Okay,' he thought as he put his car in park at his driveway. 'Into the jaws of the beast.'

  
He entered the house rather tentatively, he supposed this was what it felt like trying to sneak in late without waking your parents. The kitchen lights were off, and though it was almost too dark to see, he resisted turning the lights on. He didn't know why he was prolonging the inevitable, but maybe if she'd just give him a moment to decompress-

  
_Click_!

  
The lights flipped on and he was staring face to face with his petite tormentor. She looked pissed.

  
'Fuck.'

  
Jake pretended to fumble with his keys, sifting through each key on the ring like it was some interesting task. He didn't look at her. He knew her stare was icy cold.

  
"Gem." He said simply, as if he'd done nothing wrong and they were just casually greeting each other after another day of work. They didn't even greet each other after a normal day, honestly. She stank of cheap wine, so it was safe to assume that she wasn't in her right mind right now. Great, just what he needed. Another alcohol-dependent semi-lover.

  
"You wanna tell me what the fu-"

  
"I was out with a friend. Got stuck in traffic, didn't want to wake you. I was trying to text you but..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his head.

  
She rolled her tired eyes, her pointed wedged nose looking down on him even though he was taller. "You're so full of shit."

  
Yeah, he guessed he was.

  
He continued to look away, looking over her head as the television in the living room played a taped soap opera. A half-empty bottle of red wine and a stained glass sat on the table. God, when had they both gotten so old?

  
"It was important. It's not like you needed me for anything." Jake mumbled, and he wasn't lying. She never bothered him for anything important, just wanted him there for an emotional punching bag.  
Gemma scoffed, turning from him and shaking her head incredulously.

  
"Do you realize how childish you sound? We're married, we're supposed to communicate these things!" She was raising her voice now, gesturing dramatically like one of those soap opera girls, once again making a show out of everything.

  
"And I tried!" Jake almost shouted, obviously not having prepared himself enough for this in the car. "I could have just explained it to you then if you hadn't hung up before I could get a word in." It dawned on him that she didn't really care about what he had to say, her word was god in everything. She didn't want a partner, she wanted a yes-man. A subservient husband.

  
"We need to have a serious fucking talk Jake." Her voice was wavering, her ice queen facade breaking. Jake almost felt bad, like this was his fault. In a way, it was, he was the one who had proposed to her even though he wasn't even half certain that was what he wanted. He was the one who hated their emotional distance, but didn't want to get close in the first place. He was the one who couldn't let go of things that were never his to keep in the first place.

  
Jake nodded solemnly. They really did need to have a talk, and not just a belligerent confrontation like they'd had that morning and many other mornings before. He didn't know how they intended to resolve this, this disgust that they both felt whenever they looked at each other. She was not a bad woman, Jake kept telling himself. Just bad for him. He could bluster all day about how much he hated her, but it'd all come back to how it was his fault and his persistent hunger for attention and validation on another level than just meaningless praises from a boss or a friend. He wanted the rewarding sensation that he hadn't quite felt, but had come close to once or twice, had seen in movies and TV. He and Rich were practically almost in that kind of relationship in high school, and maybe they would've been for real if it weren't for the fact that high school kids were vicious and they were both afraid of being turned aside by their peers. He had it so fucking bad for this man that he'd spent a day and a night with. Nobody compared, especially not Gemma. He wanted her to leave, go find a man who didn't need praise to survive, a man who could be as cold and distant as she, because that man certainly wasn't Jake.

  
"We will. But I have to go again," he said hesitantly, knowing she wouldn't take it well. But he really, really had to go, as soon as possible. There was a sinking feeling in his gut that he couldn't shake.

  
"Why? _Where_?" She squawked angrily, getting riled up now. They were both master classes in making the other lose their fucking minds.

  
"A friend," Jake looked into her eyes like it was a matter of utmost importance. It was. "He needs m-"

  
But before he could finish, Gemma reeled back and slapped him flat across the face with the back of her hand, hitting his cheek with all the force her thin frame could muster, sending his head in the other direction. He stared to the wall she'd smacked his face to, wide eyed and struggling to process, like he was a computer and his systems were rebooting.

  
"I know you're cheating on me," she was crying now, baring her teeth like a mad dog. "You bastard."

  
Jake stared. She'd screamed at him. She'd dehumanized him. But she'd never, not once, struck him. He thought that was a given, not to hit your spouse. He thought that at worst, they were just distant and that she never actively tried to hurt him.

  
Shame washed over him in a wave, and to mask it, he mirrored her hateful expression twenty fold, probably looking more pissed than he'd ever been, because he was. He felt ashamed and stupid and unloved and disgusting. It was like she'd smacked him right the fuck into a mirror, and he hated what he saw.  
He balled his fists, and she made a move as if bracing to receive a smack in return, but instead he turned past her into the hallway, ascending the stairs. He'd never hit her. He'd never hit his partner, no matter how shitty of a partner they were.  
He guessed that made one of them.  
Gemma seemed to get the hint that this conversation was over, and retreated into her living room without another word.  
He seethed. The violent urges he consistently had threatened to rear their ugly heads and make him punch holes in the wall, the wall of another empty house full of silence and misery and more memories of his childhood that he couldn't get rid of no matter where he went, even though he hadn't left New Jersey in his entire life.

  
Shaking now, he pulled a canvas bag that he didn't know they owned from the closet in their bedroom. His face scowled at the thought. This was not their bedroom. This was not their house. They shared nothing, absolutely nothing. This was no marriage.

  
He felt like a child threatening to run away from his parents after a heated argument, but he would rather die than stay here, than come back tomorrow, come back ever. Even if they hated each other, it was so clear in Jake's head that you did not. Fucking. Hit. Your spouse. Cheating on her? He was gone for a _night_. He was doing everything in his power to not cheat on her. He was avoiding even looking at Rich fucking Goranski because he thought even that would be unfaithful. But he'd take the neurotic, jobless, alcoholic mess of a man over a woman that didn't even hesitate to slap him based on a misguided guess at his personal life, a life she was supposed to be sharing. This had to stop.

  
After shoving a paltry excuse for a wardrobe into the small black bag, Jake stormed back down stairs, his thoughts drowning out any and all of his surroundings. The soap operas still playing on the radio, the smell of cheap rosé wine, the face of his wife, no, tormentor. She was standing at the entrance of the living room, watching him with confliction in her eyes. He didn't give a shit about what was in her eyes, or in her heart, or in her head or in her soul. It was all rotten.

  
"Jake-" she called to him, something like regret tinting her feminine voice.

  
"Don't," he said simply, not even bothering to look at her as he passed the living room, walked briskly through the kitchen and disappeared from her sights.  
He got in his car and shoved his bag to the passenger's seat, enough work clothes to last him four days, some boxers and some t-shirts. It was almost nothing, but it was more than he had there, anywhere. This was impulsive and a bad idea if there ever was one, but he'd take any impulse, any whim, any crazy, stupid idea if it meant he'd be miles away from her.

  
He pulled out, disregarding any pedestrians or obstacles that might've been in the road. If they were smart, they'd stay out of his way.

  
As he sped by, neighbors stared through their windows, probably having heard the quick quarrel from their houses and scrambling to their windows for a sneak peak at some prime, grade-A drama to wet their mouths with. All about how the couple at the house on the corner was having a falling out, the crazy husband leaving at 7:30, probably drunk. Despite how much his neighbors prided themselves on knowing all the latest shit, they sure didn't know a damn thing about him or his life. They'd probably knock on their door tomorrow, feigning sympathy and concern for the distraught wife in house 114, but really just wanting something to talk about at the next barbecue. She'd probably tell them that he just walked right out on her, and they'd rub her shoulders telling her that it wasn't her fault, and that they were there for her if she needed them even though that was a lie. No one here was there for each other. All anyone cared about in this affluent neighborhood was their cars or their houses or anything else materialistic and meaningless.  
Maybe she'd even say that Jake was the one to hit her, and when he returned, if he returned, they'd look at him like he was a monster, putting protective hands on their snobby children's shoulders like he'd smack them too. Just more names on the list of people that thought they understood Jake Dillinger, but really didn't know a single thing about him or what he was going through. He didn't care. He was never close to these people anyway, he didn't want to know them. They reminded him of his parents, obsessed with money to the point where they disregarded anything in favor of it, including their only son. Even though he was distant with Jeremy Heere and his ragtag band of friends, he knew they were good people. They were all probably fucked up and sad and angry in their own ways, but they were genuine and didn't hide their emotions with nice things. They had each other, and that was enough. Maybe he resented them too for having the things he could never have.

  
As he pulled out of the development and onto the main road, the world felt silent, the only sound being his strangled sobs. He felt so damn pathetic, crying and running away from his problems, running for comfort to a man who had no comforts to give anymore. With one hand on the steering wheel, Jake reached with the other to touch his cheek. Defiled. Degraded. Only worthy of consistent pain and loathing. This was a miserable existence.

  
Woodbridge turned into Middle Borough, and he was there again on those familiar streets as he searched for purpose in the form of his former best friend. He wondered how Rich's day went, and if he'd even want to bother with Jake's bull shit tonight. He hoped so, because if not, he literally had nowhere else to turn.  
The night life began to emerge on the streets, and he passed faces that, like him, couldn't run from this town. He made the turn into Rich's development, muscle memory leading him back through the winding roads where he knew Rich had not left his house. Maybe he had, maybe he was at the bar, but he had all the alcohol he needed at home, so it was a safe bet that he was there. He wondered if he'd piqued Rich's neighbors' interest too, a new, unfamiliar man going to Rich Goranski's house three times in two days. He didn't know if they gossiped as much as the vultures in his neighborhood, but they all probably knew Rich and his family well, thanks to his dear old dad and his violence problem.

  
He parked the car in the driveway, only then noticing that Rich had no car of his own, at least not in the driveway. Jake assumed he didn't have to go anywhere far since his favorite dive was within walking distance, and he only went out when other people with cars like Michael were with him. He supposed having no car at all was better than having a car with nowhere to go, like he had.  
He took a moment, sitting in his car, to compose himself from his angry crying fit. He didn't want to think about the events that just transpired, but it was hard when the woman you pledged your life to just smacked you like a cheap whore. Even though it was a loveless and ugly affair, it stung just as bad as it would if it were someone he actually loved doing the hitting. He was gone for just one day and everything went to shit. This was why Jake Dillinger didn't step out of his boundaries. This was why Jake Dillinger didn't pursue happiness or validation. Everything he was scared of in coming back into contact with his old friends, new friends, any friends was coming to life before his eyes. He shut them out because he couldn't bear to let them see who Jake Dillinger really was, how he saw himself - a useless, attention-craving man that had been just given respect and praise his whole life without earning it, and now was shaken up by the fact that people just didn't give him that anymore. He hated himself so, so fucking much.

  
But this wasn't the time for that anymore. He promised Rich, swore to him that he'd return. And maybe tonight, he could whole-heartedly swear to him that he would never leave again.

  
The lights were off, but the television cast a low, blue light behind the curtains of the window where the living room was. He must have been home. Jake left the bag he'd pack in his car, not wanting to frighten or disgust Rich with some kind of commitment that he hadn't agreed to. He remembered for a moment that the gun was still locked in his Volvo's glove compartment, but shook that thought off, too. Things were going to be alright. He'd make them alright.

 

Jake knocked twice on the front door, wondering if Rich was even awake, and if it'd be rude to just let himself in if he was. He tested the knob, finding that it was unlocked but leaving it closed anyway in favor of knocking twice more. He really didn't want to intrude or startle him, he felt very fragile as it was. On the third set of knocks, he called out behind the door.

  
"Rich? It's me, it's Jake." He began to feel that familiar knot in his stomach, and the feeling that something was wrong struck him once again. What if Rich found another way to do it, to kill himself? What if he was there, knocking on the door of a dead man, a spare gun that he hadn't known about doing Rich in while he was gone, while he was having pointless arguments with his wife? What if it was all over and he had to live for the rest of his life with the fact that maybe if he was sooner or had done more or just never left Rich behind in the first place, his former, no, just his best friend and the only man or person he wanted to let into his caged heart wouldn't be dead, but was because he wasn't quick enough, and now he had to go back to _her_ , tail between his legs like a damn fool? Oh god, he thought. Oh god, oh god.

  
He gave up on any notions of letting Rich have his privacy and opened the door wide, frantically searching the clutter for any sign of burnt flesh or hazel eyes.

Even in the dark, he could tell that the house was in a considerably worse state than it had been when he left, things that were once on shelves had been toppled to the floor among the other mess. The TV still played softly, providing an eerie, ambient sound throughout the house. Jake's chest heaved, his breathing making an effort to overtake the white noise coming from the living room, coming from his head.

  
Jake searched among the dark walls for a light switch. His voice was lost on him as he found the next time he tried to call for Rich, it caught in his throat and came out strangled. This was too much. Maybe he was overreacting, because maybe he was counting on this. Maybe he was planning on leaving all of this miserable shit behind, including his wife only by name, to focus on recovery, not just Rich's, but his own, too. Maybe that was wishful thinking, but it was better than any of his other trains of thought. He knew it in his mind since he found the gun, but only now was it manifesting into a possibility, a deeply terrifying reality.

  
He could not go back to living without Rich Goranski.

  
As he found a switch, yellow light filled the kitchen and a bit of the living room. He found his voice again, though only for a moment, for this dire moment.

  
"Rich!" He called, hating how desperate, how scared he sounded. He bounded through the halls, checking the couch, checking the bathroom, and finally-

  
"Shit," Jake muttered dumbly as he barged into the half-open door of Rich's room, flicking on the lights there too. The sight was enough to knock the wind and the voice right from Jake's chest as he found himself yet again at a loss for words, like he was a detective scoping out a crime scene.

  
If the living room was a mess, Rich's room was a catastrophe, papers and glass and other odds and ends were haphazardly covering the ground. One shard of clear glass that Jake figured must've been from one of the beers he had stocked in the fridge was stained red and led his eyes with a red trail up to the bare, bloody foot of none other than the man himself. He almost started crying again when he saw how the man himself had left himself while Jake was gone.

  
Hunched over on the wall like a corpse, his head leaning on his desk, sat Rich, sobbing so lightly, Jake wouldn't have known that he was crying if not for the sporadic shaking of his frame. His head was bleeding a little too, the corner of the desk bearing some of it, showing that he must have been slamming his temple into the sharp corner. Rich kept his eyes shut, curling his lip in pain, and Jake wasn't even sure that Rich knew he was even there. The sight wasn't reassuring, even though it left no doubt that Rich was still alive and there. If anything, this felt worse. It was worse because yet again, Jake stood there, unsure of what to do or how to move. He felt so inadequate yet again, maybe more so than when he drove away from his problems after being slapped like he was nothing. Feeling like nothing to a woman you hated, he found, was a lot less painful than feeling like nothing to someone you treasured, someone that needed you. So he stood there, speechless and motionless, trying to will, beg himself to just reach out and help Rich but suddenly at a loss for words or actions. Yesterday night had come almost naturally to him, why was this any different? He should have just gone straight to work yesterday morning. He shouldn't have agreed to go to dinner yesterday evening. He should have booked it home from Rich's place last night. It was selfish and he felt horrible, but if Jake hadn't reunited with Rich, hadn't seen what he shouldn't have seen, he wouldn't have had his world crumble all over again at the prospect of being with the only person he ever wanted to be with, and the only person he ever wanted to be with wouldn't have to suffer just because he thought that things would be okay again now that Jake Dillinger was back in his life. But Jake Dillinger wasn't as put together as he assumed Rich thought he was, and now here they were, utterly miserable.

  
"How do I help you?" Jake choked, his own thoughts enough to make him start to cry too since he was in this frustratingly fragile state of mind. "Please tell me how to help you." He wanted to tell Rich that things would be okay, pat him on the back and say that he'd save him and make things better, but those were lies and he wasn't sure that touching Rich was a good idea.

  
Rich's eyes snapped open, maybe he truly didn't know Jake was home. 'Home'. If this wasn't agonizing, he'd chuckle at the idea of being 'home' with Rich. This wasn't his home, nowhere was his home.

  
"Jake," Rich moaned softly, the sound catching in his throat too and sounding like a death rattle. Those wet, hazel eyes searched his for help, and he'd never looked so exhausted. Not in childhood, and not even during these two days they spent reunited. Not when his dad broke him down, not when he stirred awake with a glass of whiskey in his fist. It made Jake's heart feel downright injured with how badly it squeezed.

  
Jake fell to his knees, half in an attempt to gather Rich into his arms and half in a sorrowful motion of prayer to whatever god there was, if there was one. If there was one, he thought bitterly, then he wouldn't be having him kneel before his childhood best friend, recently having felt the bitter sting of his mockery of a wife slapping him for something he didn't do, unsure and scared in ways he hadn't been since he was a little boy and his parents weren't there to pick him up when he fell or check under his bed for monsters. He felt old enough to keel over and die yet small enough to just curl up and cry forever. This was not how he envisioned his life turning out, it was far, far worse than any horrible fantasy his teenage brain could have conjured. But it was no fantasy, it was his reality, and he just wanted out. He supposed this was how Rich felt, only all the time. He wondered, if he'd never seen Rich that day, how long it would have taken him to get to that point himself.

  
"What happened?" He asked, voice no more than a whisper, as if this suffering was some big secret, as if they were back in high school hiding their voices from the monster in the other room that Rich called "dad". Rich's hands moved to his head from where they sat limply on the ground, and he squeezed and pulled knotted clumps of hair at the side of his head. Whenever he was in distress, he'd grab his head. He thought back to Rich's words from last night, "It's in my head, it won't go away". If Jake could take whatever 'it' was inside of him and quash it like a bug, he would in a second. He would stop this suffering in its tracks so they could go back to being friends and maybe then some, he would do anything, because it truly was painful to see him this way every time. But all he could do now was reach and grab Rich's hands and try to get him to ease off himself, the man was already bleeding. He didn't need to be shaking himself and tearing his hair from the roots, too.

  
"Ple-please just go _home_ ," Rich said tearfully, determined to keep his hands to his head like the handlebars of a bike. "Just let me _die_." There was a certain bitterness in his voice with the last word, like he resented Jake for taking a knife to his plans. Jake knew Rich didn't want that, he just wanted to not have to feel like he was living for someone, and if Jake was gone again, he wouldn't have to. Maybe Rich had picked up on the fact that Jake, too, felt like he had no one. His note suggested that he knew that all of his friends had each other, as lovers, as best friends, and his best friend was in a town over, seemingly never to speak to him again. He was convinced that no one would miss him, and figured it would stay that way until Halloween.

  
Too bad for him, though, because for once in his life, Jake Dillinger was determined to not let yet another good thing slip from his grasp.

  
"No, I'm not leaving," he lowered his head, hands still folded over Rich's, looking into those hazel eyes with a new bravery and a new determination, despite the fact that he himself wanted to curl up and die. He ignored for a moment how his eyes made his heart skip a beat, because this was a sad moment and Jake didn't need his focus on how much he wanted to see Rich smile again, and how much he wanted that smile to be caused by something he said or did.

  
Rich said nothing, and Jake felt his knee become wet as the trace amount of blood on the ground seeped through his work pants.

  
"Shit, okay, come on , Richie," he tried his hand at a comforting voice. He wanted to rouse Rich from his apparent panic attack first, but needing to fix the (hopefully only) two bleeding areas on his person first. He put his arms behind Rich's shoulder blades in an attempt to urge him forward a little, to stand up and follow him into the bathroom. The smaller man stayed put, not much caring that he was bleeding from his brain and his foot, for what was a little blood to someone wholly ready to blow his brains out the side of his head?

  
Jake found his patience, knowing that Rich did not want Jake to save him, did not want him to patch up his wounds. Or at least, that was what he was telling himself. And Jake knew firsthand about pretending not to feel things or pretending to want something different from what you actually wanted, and how stubborn people got when they lied to themselves. He'd been doing it from the moment he could think coherent thoughts.

  
Jake conceded though, and got up hesitantly.

  
"I'll be right back, okay?" He asked cautiously, wanting it to sound comforting but sounding more like he was talking to a scared animal. "Nod if you understand me."

  
Rich hesitated, his eyes following Jake sadly, revealing that he didn't want him to go, but didn't want to go with him either. He was petrified and scared and sad and needed help. Jake felt the same, but while Rich was not physically able to provide comforting words, Jake would do the healing for both of them. That was how it had always been, by no fault of Rich's own. It was enough to be needed, most of the time.

  
The bathroom was adjacent to his parent's room, and since this was a room regularly used by Rich, it too was unorganized. Not to the extent of the rest of the parts of the house that Rich inhabited, but messy all the same. Jake filled his head with hopeful thoughts. They would be together long enough to see things improve. They would be together long enough for the house to become clean again. They would, they just had to. This was no way for an adult, anybody really, to live.

  
Bright orange medication bottles surrounded the sink. Jake found himself snooping again, but for a good cause. Maybe one of these could help him. He read the label on one, a blue bottle amongst orange ones.

  
"Valium," Jake mumbled under his breath, trying to remember what that did. The bottle was full, and Jake wondered if Rich was actually taking them. He also wondered quite dismally why Rich would choose the messiest way out when he had a plethora of medications to take instead. Maybe he just wanted to quite literally go out with a bang. He reminded himself that he was trying to avoid thinking about that, and shoved the blue bottle into his pocket. Rich could take it if he needed it or if it even was something that would help him. He suddenly felt pressed for time and rummaged through the sink's cabinets for some band-aids or something to clean his wounds.

  
He returned to Rich's side, who was in the same state as he was two minutes ago, which was a small victory. In Jake's hands, he held a box of band-aids with different sizes inside, something for his head and his foot, an almost-empty bottle of saline and a paper towel. He knelt again to Rich's eye level and watched sadly as Rich, still crying but otherwise composed, looked to the ground with a numb look in his eyes.

  
"Turn your head, buddy." Jake stated, trying to be as calming and reassuring as he could because he had an idea, but wasn't sure of Rich's mental state at that point. Rich, for once, complied immediately and turned his head to the side the abrasion was on. Luckily it wasn't too bad, scraped and bleeding but he couldn't see into Rich's head which was definitely reassuring. He put a scarce amount of the saline onto the paper towel and dabbed Rich's head lightly, wiping some of the blood away.

  
"You don't have to do this." Rich mumbled almost indignantly. "You should just go home. This is normal, I can handle it myself."

  
Jake knew Rich too well to take his word for things, especially when his word was about his feelings. They were both stunted emotionally, even as kids, to the point of lying about themselves until the person or people trying to help would get tired of it and leave them alone to wallow in their own sadness. They had warmed up to each other just enough in high school that Rich could say whenever he was scared of his dad and that Jake could say when he was fed up with silence, which was a miracle considering how much they both bottled things up. Now they were back to square one, and it stung, for both of them. Luckily Jake knew Rich and his emotional hang-ups enough to know that he didn't really want him to leave, he just didn't want Jake wasting time and energy on a man who was in his own mind, utterly helpless.

  
"I don't mind." Jake said as he placed the bandage to Rich's temple. Rich surrendered, probably being just as familiar with Jake's annoying persistence just as much as Jake was familiar with his lying.

  
There was silence in the house again, and it made Jake uneasy, but he had a task to do so it wasn't too bad. He made sure there was no glass in Rich's foot, then bandaged it too. Despite the fact that he was no longer sobbing, his chest moving up and down in some semblance of normal breathing, tears still freely streamed from Rich's eyes as he watched Jake with numb interest, laying slack and pliant, moving whenever Jake told him to.

  
When he finished everything, Jake pulled the blue bottle he'd retrieved from Rich's bathroom sink and presented it to him.

  
"I don't know what these do, but I thought maybe they'd help with your anxiety or something," he was suddenly bashful, partly at not knowing what they did and partly at the fact that he'd just outed himself to snooping through Rich's belongings again. Rich took it into his hands and rolled it around a little.

  
"For my anxiety, a-and my muscles," Rich muttered and unscrewed the cap, and poured two blue pills into his palm, then took them quickly and without water. 'Duh' Jake thought, mentally smacking himself for not bringing Rich something to down them with. He was rusty at this whole comfort thing.

  
For a minute or so, they both resumed their silence, Jake having nothing to do and neither having anything to say. Finally, Rich looked over Jake's shoulder to the clock hanging on his wall, then spoke.

  
"You should get home. Wouldn't want to wake your wife up." The smaller man picked at the splotchy scars on his arm idly. They were back to being awkward. "I'll be fine."

  
Jake stiffened noticeably at the mention of his wife. If he could even call her that. He was overcome with anxiety at having to tell Rich he had nowhere to go, worried that he might decline and feeling kind of foolish for thinking he could just stay here without a hitch. He thought Rich would be practically begging him to stay like he had yesterday, but he guessed that was just him being vain. He didn't realize he had the capacity for vanity anymore, not after how degraded he felt.

  
"She doesn't want me there," he said bitterly, making Rich start a bit, surprised by the sudden change in tone from comfort to resentment. He questioned if it was evident in his voice every time he mentioned Gemma. "I don't want to be there either."

  
Rich's eyes sparkled with something, curiosity and maybe a bit of hope.

  
"That's crazy," Rich chuckled a little, still awkward, but getting better. "A girl not wanting Jake Dillinger around." Jake frowned and Rich's chuckle died in his throat, seeing that he'd struck a nerve.

Back then, yes, Jake was what they'd call a "lady killer". And his reputation preceded him, because he suspected Gemma was only interested in him in the first place because word spread everywhere people recognized him, the word that he was the best bachelor Middle Borough had to offer. But hated it, hated the way people on the streets of Middle Borough would nudge each other as they saw him, out and about on one of his nostalgia trips. People that knew him in high school would go "hey, isn't that Jake Dillinger?" . People that knew his criminal parents would go "hey, that's the Dillinger kid." He felt like an animal on display to people he didn't remember, people that just wanted to talk trash about him because they had these false perceptions of him, that he had everything that they didn't have, that he was so selfish he didn't even remember them if they dared to say hello. That was all he was. Jake Dillinger, former football star, former president of the model UN, former high school god. They didn't know anything about him beyond the fact that he used to be popular and that his parents were criminals.

  
Rich saw the displeasure on Jake's face and tried to mend things. "I mean, if it were me, I'd want to be around you all the time."

  
Both of their faces suddenly flushed. That was the kind of affection they'd call "no homo" on in high school. But they were adults now, regrettably, so Rich couldn't pawn it off on that anymore.

  
Jake flashed a small hint of that winning smile, and looked away. He wondered how Rich was now. If these really were regular occurrences, maybe it wasn't unheard of for him to be feeling stable again even after he wore himself ragged, crying and bleeding for god knew how long. His face was still wet, and Jake resisted the urge to reach out and dry his cheeks by moving to wipe his own eyes, almost forgetting that he was crying too.

  
"Well, you've got me," Jake responded, and met Rich's eyes again, still wet and still tired. "I'm not going anywhere."

  
Rich looked apprehensive, but said no more, still picking idly at the red scar tissue on his arm. He probably wanted to remind Jake that he had a wife and a home, but must have sensed that the discussion was over, cutting his losses and just being glad that he didn't have to beg Jake to stay. Looking for something else to talk about, to do, anything to either break the silence or do something to take his mind off it. He realized that they were still on the floor, broken glass and scattered papers surrounding them on all sides. He rose to his feet, watching Rich cringe a little at the sudden movement and then pretend like he hadn't.

  
"Can you stand up?" Jake asked and held out his hands for Rich to grab, and he did, carefully rising to his feet without stepping on any glass. He looked ashamed as he scanned the ground, upright for the first time, possibly since Jake left, since whatever little fight he'd had with himself earlier. They stepped around it, still hand in hand, and exited Rich's room. For the fourth time in two days, they found themselves sitting apart on that old, blue couch.

  
Rich stared at the floor, feeling like they'd had enough eye contact for tonight. Jake figured Rich didn't want to talk about whatever had happened while he was away, but he guessed tonight was his night to play therapist, even though he was in no position to. He hated the way he was reaching to touch his cheek constantly, as if to make sure it was still there, to make sure he was still there.

  
"What happened?" He asked again, diverting his own thoughts from himself and especially from her.

  
The sound of Rich picking and scratching at his scars seemed deafeningly loud as Jake waited with bated breath for a response.

  
"L-like I said-" he lisped, and Jake could see him not-so-subtly pinch down brutally on the area of brownish-red skin he was scratching. "-it happens all the time." Jake noticed now that he was speaking slowly, trying not to trip up. Earlier that morning, and late the previous night, he'd seemingly forgotten all about his voice, and it was as if they'd made some sort of progress. Maybe it was because they were too despaired about everything else, but for an instant, their walls came down and they had held each other. Now, whatever voice was in Rich's head had retaught him how to be aware of his flaws, how to be scared of getting judged by Jake. It made his stomach turn. Rich didn't even know that much about him anymore either. But he still knew more than anyone else in Middle Borough, in New Jersey, in the entire world knew.

  
"You're making a big mistake, you know," Jake didn't notice that they'd fallen silent again until Rich broke it. "Being here, I mean."

  
Jake sighed. Rich's eyes were wet again and he could tell that he was ashamed of having to have Jake come to his rescue again. What little pride he had was fragile. He had no job, no family, his friends had to drive him if he ever wanted to go somewhere that wasn't his favorite bar. He could hardly care for himself, couldn't muster the energy in the mornings to get out of bed and do laundry or pick up the trash. Maybe his pride rested in not letting anyone see how miserable he was inside. Or at least the illusion of it. If Jeremy Heere's clear concern was any testament, his friends knew of the sorry state he lived in. Jake empathized. They were both washed up and sad, the only difference being that Jake still had obligations because people believed in him, and so he was able to go far. He doubted many people expected the youngest son of an abusive drunk that burned down a house in the eleventh grade to go far in life. It was unfair, but that was how it was, and Rich didn't seem eager to change it. He didn't even want to live long enough to change it.

  
"Everything I do is a mistake, Rich."

  
Rich chuckled a little, shaking his head and looking to the floor. His small smile was not fake, but it wasn't happy. His eyes looked impossibly tired and forlorn as he stared holes into the floor.

  
"No, I mean it." Jake said, and his seriousness must've caught Rich's attention, because he was looking up at him again. "Everything's just..." he gestured with his hands. "Tedious."

  
Rich said nothing, wanting Jake to continue, perhaps so he wouldn't feel so exposed. It was strange, because Jake felt exposed enough as is. He wondered if Rich picked up on the way he was constantly touching his cheek. She had stripped him of his dignity, and it felt obvious.

  
"I fucked up so bad and I feel like I'm constantly trying to undo that, but I couldn't because..." he trailed off. He had the tendency to overshare, and was surprised he'd only done it once before, last night. He just had nobody to tell all of these thoughts that plagued him wherever he went, so now that he had something that even kind of resembled a friend, he was scared he might speak novels. "...Because you weren't around, so I couldn't apologize."

  
Rich flushed, not having expected the conversation to turn back to him. The small man opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words.

  
"I said you didn't have anything to apologi-"

  
"Let me finish, okay?" Jake cringed as his voice came out cracked and high like he was still a teenager. Rich cowered, and was silent again.

  
"Everything sucks, everything really fucking sucks, you know? A-a-and, I wanted to go the rest of my life without seeing you, bec-because I just-" he white knuckled the bottom of the couch, voices screaming at him to shut up, just to shut the hell up forever, stop exposing himself to this man, to anybody, because he was Jake Dillinger and he had to be the best because if he wasn't, people would see how truly flawed he was. He was Jake Dillinger and he had to be perfect because his parents were criminals, so that was all everyone expected him to be. He was Jake Dillinger and he had to be numb because if he wasn't, his irrational feelings would pull his life into directions that he was afraid of going down. He was Jake fucking Dillinger and he had to pretend that he was fucking perfect because he hated himself, and the only way he could get away from that was to pretend.

  
"Because I love you!" His eyes were screwed shut, fresh tears wetting his cheeks and falling from his chin. Maybe if he closed them for long enough, Rich would disappear and the feeling of being slapped would disappear, he would disappear and never have to own up to the checks his mouth made that his heart couldn't cash. Two days. Two days was all it took for Rich Goranski to get back under his skin and make him open up like a big, pitiful picture book for everyone to read. Rich said that he thought Jake'd be better off without him. Jake thought that it was Rich who really couldn't afford to be with him.

  
He didn't look at Rich, didn't look at anything for a while, clenching his eyes shut, his mouth shut. That was why he didn't see it coming when Rich smushed his scruffy face against Jake's, locking their mouths together in an instant, putting each of his burned hands on Jake's wet cheeks, pulling him closer.  
Jake's eyes snapped open, and he saw that Rich's eyes were closed, crying now, too. When had they both become so soft? His heart stuttered, his breathing shallowed, but he didn't pull back, wouldn't have pulled back even if Rich was made of poison. He figured he might be, because he felt like was dying, or that he could die and he'd be content. The world could explode around them and he could just die and be nothing, and he would still be able to say that it was all worth it. Every broken bone, every tear shed, every backhanded slap was worth it just to get to have Rich's face on his.

  
Jake sank his hands, his hungry fingers into the soft fabric of Rich's shirt, rubbing along each groove and turn of Rich's back. This was ten different kinds of irrational, but Jake didn't care.

  
He didn't want to live another second without Rich's touch.

  
He was Jake Dillinger, and he was meant to be the other half of Richard Goranski.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally right?  
> Sorry for the delayed update, things have been a little hectic and i havent really been feeling good emotionally but theres no better way to vent than forcing my favorite characters to suffer  
> I do love Jake i promise, i swear  
> I'm starvom on tumblr if you want to talk or just tell me that my story's getting shittier by the chapter then yeah  
> Aaanyway, i hope you enjoyed. I'd say sorry in advance, but it's not in advance anymore


	11. I Should Tell You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intimate moment.

Jake thought it must have been a crime that he'd gone thirty five long years of life without being able to taste Rich Goranski's mouth on his.

  
It was just a crying shame that he only got to when his life is an utter wreck, a mockery of what he thought a fulfilling life would look like. He didn't want the first kiss with the only man, the only person he'd ever truly, deeply loved to be one where both parties are crying. That isn't to say that he wasn't grateful, no, of course not. It was so perfect, perfect to the point where he wanted to rip off the solid silver wedding band on his ring finger and fling it to the other side of the earth. Then again, he didn't really need Rich to want to do that. Still though, it was jarring to Jake how ready he was to just drop everything and leave it behind for a shot at a life with his childhood best friend. But here he was, here they were, and he was entirely fixated on doing just that. It was incredibly irrational and childish and just plain stupid, but he was starting to believe that those words described him perfectly.

  
Rich moved his hands from Jake's cheeks so that they were looped around his neck, pulling him closer by the second. Jake thought it rather inappropriate to go any more south than he already was, so he wrapped his arms around Rich's back, trying to hoist him nearer to his face by the awkward angle. He tasted like booze and cigarettes, a trace taste of metal from where Jake figures he'd bit down on his own cheek from the night's preceding events. Jake thought to himself that they must look like some cliché movie characters, with the pale light of the TV illuminating their hungry mouths, neither of which were all that inexperienced. He wondered with a twinge of jealousy how Rich got this good, until he remembered that they were both popular in high school. He hoped that Rich, too, forgot the name of every single girl he'd ever kissed like this, because Jake sure had. Chloe Valentine's lips couldn't have felt more distant. Gemma Parks' were in a whole different dimension as far as he was concerned. All that mattered was the taste of smoke and alcohol and the feeling of Rich's hands moving to card through Jake's short, chocolate brown hair that at this point was already mussed up and sweaty from all of the panicking he'd done over Rich's half-lifeless body. But those thoughts, too, are far away from him. He must have been floating all these years, because he only now felt tethered to the ground by Rich and his mouth and his sounds and his everything. He even almost forgot the feeling of the back of his "wife's" hand on his cheek.

  
Rich pulled away, a line of spit linking them together still. Jake made a sound of protest, but Rich shut him up by tearfully muttering a response to the last line of dialogue they shared. It seemed like hours since they last talked, but Rich gave his answer anyway.

  
"I love you too, Jakey D. God, fuck, I love you too."

  
Jake's chest heaved with sobs, the words reigniting what had turned into that gentle, pitiful crying that could be easily muffled by Rich's mouth on his. He wanted to tell Rich how good that felt, just to be told that he was loved, loved by the one whose love he'd been unknowingly searching for in everyone and everything for seventeen years. He couldn't bear the thought that he'd left all of that behind just because he wouldn't listen to Rich's explanation about the house, about what was in his head. If he could go back in time and knock a little sense into his past self, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Kick his own ass for ever thinking it was okay to leave Richard Goranski behind. He thought back to Jeremy and how he wanted Jake around just long enough for Rich to explain himself. He figured that should come sooner than he expected, but first, he had to speak.

  
"Richie, I-" he swallowed hard in his throat, trying to stifle the sobs and cracks in his voice so he'd be easier to understand. "-I'm sorry."

  
Rich shook his head and went to move back into the kiss, and Jake wished he could just let himself be shut up, but this was dire. He stopped Rich in his tracks by putting their foreheads together and looking him dead in those perfect hazel eyes. He was told he had a captivating stare, so he put it to good use. It worked, and Rich closed his mouth into a thin line, his expression almost pleading.

  
"I don't care about the house, I _never_ cared about the house," Jake said shakily, wanting to just stop crying so he could deliver this necessary apology like it was supposed to be delivered: seriously and without faltering.

  
Rich detached himself from Jake's forehead to look away, shaking his head as an outpour of silent tears made their way past his eye's floodgates. The fire was clearly a sensitive topic, it left its mark on Rich, physically and mentally. But it was what drove them apart to begin with, so it had to be talked about.

  
"I don't know what's in your head or what you've been through, but it's in the past, it isn't important. I'm so sick of running away from things that make me happy."

  
Rich reached up to touch his bandaged temple at the mention of the voice. Jake wondered if it was still talking now, and what on god's green earth he could do to shut it up and make Rich smile again.

  
"I was just scared," he continued. He must've told Rich how scared he was a thousand times, but he was the only person he'd willingly disclose that information with anyway. "And I'm still really, really fucking scared. But I want this."

  
Rich wiped his eyes and spoke softly. "I-me too but what about-"

  
Jake knew what he was going to say, and he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want her name to ever have to slip past Rich's perfect lips, didn't want that pure, precious voice to say words that had become so cursed in his mind. "I don't care. I don't care, Rich. I just want you in my life again."

  
And with that, their mouths were together again, hungry hands and hungrier mouths scrambling just to be close again, getting tired of the feeling of cool air and instead needing that warmth they'd been denied for their entire lives. When they broke next, it was so Jake could bury his nose into Rich's shoulder, holding him by his back and rocking slowly, trying to be comforting and have each of his senses consuming Rich at the same time. He wanted his taste, his smell, his sounds, his feel.

  
Something else ate at him though, and he wished he could just let things be as they were without running his big stupid mouth, give Rich and him a little well-deserved peace.

  
"Promise me." Jake said desperately, the sound muffled by his mouth in the fabric of Rich's secondhand T-shirt that he had been wearing since dinner last night. To some, that might be gross, but nothing about Richard Goranski was gross to him. Nothing at all.

  
Rich had his face in Jake's hair, holding his head in his arms like it was the world. He made a noise that was Jake's cue to elaborate.

  
"Promise me you won't do it."

  
Rich's breathing stuttered and he bit down hard on his lip to keep it from quivering again. He didn't need to say the words, Rich knew what he was being asked. Promise, promise the man of your dreams that you won't put a bullet between your eyes. It was a no-brainer.

  
"I promise."

  
Jake smiled sadly, softly into his shoulder. "This is crazy." Crazy didn't even begin to describe it. It was as if the universe itself was sick and tired of Jake uselessly mulling around the swarming, ugly thoughts in his head and gave him a shove in the right direction finally. And the right direction was a five foot five inches tall man with freckles and a tooth gap and beautiful hazel eyes and a lisp and angry burn scars that stretched from his face to his feet like a tiger's stripes. They'd been together for two days, and Jake had already made up his mind. Awkwardly warming back up to the feeling of being someone's other half, someone's best friend sounded years better than resigning himself to a life of unfulfilling mediocrity with a woman whose mere thought made him sick. They had been waiting on this for seventeen long, painful years, and they subconsciously jumped into it like it was destiny. Jake didn't quite believe in fate, but if there was a better explanation for why when his life had reached a culmination of tediousness and self-loathing, he just so happened to meet the one man that he thought could save him in a dive bar, five days until he planned for himself to die, he'd gladly take it.

  
" _You_ must be crazy, Jakey D." He couldn't see his face, but there was a smile in Rich's voice, something that was beatific about hearing Rich speak in a tone that was happy. He felt like he mattered. If he could consistently make Rich smile, he had enough of that praise he hungered for to last him forever.

  
"Yeah. I guess I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Did you catch that not so subtle reference in the title)  
> That was short, but I think that's what I do to cool off whenever i have a really big chapter like with chapters 6 and 7. Next one will be longer, and so will the wait (sorry!!)  
> Also!! Also!!! A fantastic person that you should ALL check out and follow drew me some amazing fanart for little ol me and my little ol story  
> http://starvom.tumblr.com/post/167170117655/cosmos-curiosity-a-fan-made-cover-for-one-of-my  
> The link directs you to my blog but please visit theirs sometime yeah? This is just so fantastic and so great and i want you all to know that i ADORE getting things like this, so dont be afraid to show me your art if I should inspire you enough to make any. Seriously guys, check this person out, theyre awesome!  
> Also I'm feeling way better now thanks to that and your guys' sweet comments (Seriously, im crazy about praise, i feel like Jake)  
> These notes were a mess but so am i  
> I hope you enjoyed!!!


	12. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael Mell and Jeremy Heere come bearing news for Rich Goranski and his new, unexpected houseguest.

On a list of things Michael Mell expected when he walked into Rich Goranski's house with his new fiancé to announce his big news to their longtime friend, Jake Dillinger making coffee was not on that list.

  
It was early, so he hadn't registered the unfamiliar car in the driveway somehow, and he was caught off guard by the statuesque man towering over a Keurig with his back turned to the door. They'd come to Rich first thing in the morning, despite knowing that he wouldn't be awake, might not even have been home. They could have texted him, but this was an important and exciting announcement that they knew that their friend, no matter how drunk, would be pleased with, and would want to have heard in person. Last night, Michael had treated Jeremy to an unusually fancy dinner (usually their dates involved getting stoned and eating whatever was leftover in the kitchen) and popped the sacred question before the bill could be placed on their table, presenting him with the gorgeous wedding band that Christine had helped him pick out a month ago. Of course he said yes, Jeremy would marry him even if Michael had asked over the phone or in the Cruiser and the engagement ring was a shitty arcade prize. Everyone in their friend group knew it would happen, it was just a matter of when. Rich would still be very excited for them, and that was why Michael found himself standing in Rich's kitchen, stopped dead in his tracks by a somewhat unfamiliar form looming over their old friend's coffeemaker.

  
Jeremy trailed behind, and peered over his partner's shoulder to see what had stopped him.

  
"Woah, Jake?" He questioned, adjusting his glasses to make sure he was seeing right. He knew for a fact that Rich was not that tall, but his vision without contacts was less than reliable. The man over the coffeemaker jolted upright, nearly dropping the mug he was about to fill with hot caffeine. Jake took a tentative look back, slouching and visibly embarrassed by being caught by surprise in a place he probably shouldn't have been in Michael's eyes. He turned fully and faced the other men as they entered Rich's inherited home.

  
"Uh...hey," he said awkwardly. Michael looked back at his husband-to-be as if searching in his eyes for something to say about the situation, but by the slight smile that Jeremy wore, he, too, knew more than Michael did.

  
"Rich, he-he's sleeping on the couch," The tall man pointed to the living room where Rich was indeed sleeping soundly, for once, without a bottle of alcohol hanging in his sleeping grasp.

  
Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way into the house as casually as he could, trying to think of small talk that he could make that didn't amount to 'what the fuck are you doing making coffee in Rich Goranski's house like you've been married for years'.  
Jeremy, who apparently had the answer himself, spoke for them both.

"Nice to see you again, Jake." Michael looked to him questionably, and Jeremy just shook his head, smiling still. That was his way of saying 'I'll tell you later'.

  
"You too, Jeremy. Michael." Jake was pretty bad at hiding his nervousness, Michael found. He was like that at dinner, too, practically on fire from the way his face heated up. Not having much more to say to Jake, not out of malice but because he just wasn't sure how to address him, Michael excused himself from the kitchen to wake Rich, a cruel endeavor, but he figured Rich could stand to be sober and awake for a few minutes.

  
He crouched next to the couch and put his hand on Rich's shoulder, thankfully covered by a sleeve so he wouldn't have to risk irritating his friend's burns. Rich's face was buried in one of the couch's throw pillows, and was smiling ever so slightly into the blue fabric. Fun night, he guessed. He thought back to Jake, and quickly dismissed the thought again. He didn't care to think about what exactly Jake did to get Rich smiling in his sleep.

  
"Yo, Rich, up and at 'em, buddy." He looked back to the kitchen where Jake and Jeremy talked quietly, awkward-sounding even from the other room.

"Help me out here, man." He really didn't want to go back to exchanging awkward platitudes with some successful businessman that probably was looking down on them, figuratively and literally.   
Rich groaned and stirred, moving to turn away from Michael, burying his scruffy face in the back of the couch. The other man sighed and stood up, opting for another way.

  
"Me and Jeremy are getting married."   
Like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head, Rich jerked into consciousness, sitting up to face Michael with an excited look in his tired eyes.

  
"Really? You stopped being a pussy?" His offhanded comment didn't change the fact that he looked like a kid on Christmas. Michael had been telling him for years how much he wanted to just tie the knot, but his fears and anxieties always stopped him. He was genuinely psyched in Michael's favor. After all, he invented "boyf riends". He guessed now he'd have to call them "husb ands" or something. It didn't have quite the same ring to it, though.

  
Jeremy materialized in the living room doorway, smiling shyly, holding his hand out and displaying the wedding band Michael and Christine had so meticulously picked out and engraved. "Really."

  
Rich jumped from his couch, shoving miscellaneous bits of trash out of his path to look at Jeremy's ring. Upon closer inspection, he could see that it was definitely a ring from Michael. It was solid black, save for a gold engraving that read nothing other than "Player Two". Rich laughed incredulously. They were nerds even in marriage.

  
"That's great!" He couldn't help his lisp now, he was too happy for them. He looked to the kitchen where Jake stood back, his well-built frame looking awkward in the kitchen, eyes not directed at the almost newlyweds and their friend, rather watching the Keurig from afar. If this was going to be a regular thing like he and Jake wanted it to be, he wanted his friends to be Jake's friends too. He shot a pleading glance to the man he'd woke up in the arms of yet again. Jake said he would go make coffee, and left Rich to fall back asleep, which was easy seeing as he'd spent the majority of the night bleeding and crying and making out with the man of his dreams. He wondered, quite giddily, where his life would go from there. He had made a promise to Jake, and a serious one. It's not like he had any reason to break it now, the man he'd been pining for since the start of adolescence was here. Willing to give up everything, a woman that was probably stunning, all just for homely, traumatized little him. But yet, something in Rich's mind was there to remind him to be very, very mindful. Things never went this well for him. They hadn't since he was a little boy. He took one last look at Jake, who looked kind of miserable, standing there watching Rich's friends gush about how excited they were to be together. Rich sympathized. He was happy for his friends, but he couldn't deny that twinge of childlike envy at the two men who had their lives utterly figured out, lives they'd be spending together. He turned back to Michael who wore that same dorky smile, the one he always had when talking or thinking about only Jeremy.

  
"When's the wedding?" He supposed it was too soon, but Michael had literally been planning this for a decade.   
The man shrugged nonchalantly, as if it wasn't going to be the most important day of his life.

  
"It's probably not gonna be anything big, just the squad, you know." Rich didn't dare look back at Jake, but he knew the concerns that were probably in his head.

  
"Don't say squad. You're thirty five." Jeremy called to him, still blushing and smiling. "But yeah, I don't want anything fancy."

  
Rich clicked his tongue in mock-scolding. "I don't think Jenna's gonna like that. You know how much she loves big parties." She really did. Plus, all four girls enjoyed doting over their friends and would be crushed to find out that the newlyweds didn't want a fun, meaningful party with long vows and beautiful venues symbolizing roughly twenty eight years of friendship and mutual adoration. Rich was secretly glad, though. He knew what happened when there was alcohol around and he wasn't too keen on making a spectacle in front of his best friends, and potentially his new housemate. Jake had never seen Rich completely drunk.

  
Michael rolled his eyes. "It's not Jenna's wedding. I mean, we'll get hammered and dance if that's what she's worried about."

  
Michael and Rich continued exchanging plans for the wedding in the living room as Jeremy silently excused himself back into the cluttered kitchen, passing the other person in the kitchen. The lanky man looked up at Jake, who was even now avoiding gazes. He felt a little more secure with Jeremy than he did with Michael, taking the brief bathroom discussion they'd had the night of the dinner into account. Still, they were very much strangers, and Jake didn't know how to address him. If Jeremy was sensible, he, too, would think Jake was a monumental douche. At least, that was what Jake thought they'd think of him as. It seemed to be what everyone, including himself, saw Jake Dillinger as.

  
Jeremy motioned for Jake to join him in exiting the house, which Jake wasn't too interested in, seeing how it was late October in New Jersey and he was wearing nothing but the sweatpants he brought from home and a white undershirt. He'd changed shortly after he and Rich's little confession and subsequent make out session on the couch, as to be able to cuddle close to him without making either of them uncomfortable with his stiff work clothes. Still, he predicted another heart-to-heart with Jeremy, and he had the strange subconscious need to make Jeremy proud of the fact that he'd saddled up and became close with Rich again like he'd wanted. So, he followed the newly engaged man into the October morning air, Michael and Rich still chatting behind them.

  
Jake shut Rich's front door, subtly checking around the neighborhood to make sure no one in the development was awake and watching. He still felt so out-of-place in this town, even though he felt safe and at home with Rich. Rich wasn't out here, though, and he was uneasy.

  
Jeremy turned to him, smiling slightly.

  
"So." He said simply, shoving his ringless hand in his pocket.

  
"So?" Jake asked, wishing Jeremy would just cut to the damn chase.

  
The shorter man audibly chuckled. "You took my advice?" His face dropped a little, twinge of worry for his friend in the living room apparent. "You'll stay?"

  
Jake swallowed, then nodded. "That's the plan. It's not a very thought-through plan, but..." he trailed off, shoving his hands in his pockets too. It was cold, and the sky was overcast without a trace of blue beneath the thick clouds. He busied himself with studying the sky and not Jeremy Heere, with his happy, soon-to-be-married face.

  
"Good," Jake looked down at Jeremy after a moment of silence to see thar he was not-so-subtly looking at his wedding band and smiling.

  
Jake remembered his wedding. It was amazing to him that two people that were actually in love wanted to have such a small scale wedding, while he and the woman he most certainly didn't love had this big, extravagant festivity with all of her extended family (not his, for obvious reasons), a mini bar that was hardly small enough to be called "mini" in the first place, all at a gorgeous and expensive venue. All out of his own pocket. That was at a time when he still believed he loved Gemma, a simpler time, really. He remembered mulling over invitations with his future bride, and considering figuring out where Rich lived so he could invite him. Though they were estranged and hadn't exchanged a word since high school, Rich used to be his best friend and he thought maybe it'd be water under the bridge. They were adults, anything from high school should have been disregarded right? Still, he had perished the thought, for even then Rich tainted his mind in ways inappropriate for an engaged man. Needless to say, Rich did not come to his wedding. And thank god. No one could tell that he was unhappy like Rich could. He would've seen him standing up there in his nice suit, waiting for her to walk down the isle with a glint of regret in his eyes that he hadn't yet realized himself was there. He didn't want the whole world to know that he'd rushed into something he wasn't ready for, just because he longed for validation, to feel like that high school heartthrob he was when he was young. And as cheesy as it sounded, Rich _was_ his whole world.

  
"Congratulations," Jake said, genuinely as he watched Jeremy dumbly admire the strip of metal around his ring finger. Jeremy looked up and flushed, putting the hand back to his side.

  
"Thanks." He replied. "How's Rich?"

  
That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Jake had just assumed that things were fine. They fell asleep in each others arms, fitting like sad, lonely puzzle pieces. He'd even been bold enough to kiss the top of Rich's head before he left to make coffee. He'd made him promise not to do what the note said he'd do, stay with him all throughout Halloween and ideally longer. But things just didn't change that quickly. Rich couldn't be cured of his depression or even the voice in his head just by Jake being there for him. He also wondered if he himself was even okay. It was easy to forget his loveless marriage when Rich's mouth was on his, but when it was pff, he felt unbelievably washed with guilt. He hated Gemma. Despised her. But he didn't hate her quite enough to not want to be honest with her. She'd accused him of cheating before, that was why his face still felt defiled and dirty when it wasn't being pecked and touched by Rich. Their touches were so different. One made him feel like nothing more than garbage, worth slapping and beating and hating. The other, made him feel like he was the king of all of New Jersey again, maybe all of the world. He really did deserve that slap, because if he wasn't ruining whatever semblance of sanctity their marriage had left already, he was now.

  
"Jake?" Jeremy called to him from the haze. Jake shook his head, remembering that Jeremy had asked him a question.

  
"He was going to kill himself," he blurted out, wishing he could take it back. But that was one of the many things that was on his mind constantly these past couple of days. Jeremy was taken aback, his brow furrowing in surprise and worry. Jake had said too much.

  
"He-wh-huh?" Jeremy sputtered, voice breaking. Maybe Jake and Rich weren't the only ones who hadn't done a lot of changing since high school. "How do you-"

  
"A note," Jake said, unaware of why he was so suddenly breathless himself. Maybe it was the aspect of talking about the thing that he felt he wasn't supposed to refer to by name, with an outsider to the situation. He was once an outsider, too. He didn't feel comfortable talking on Rich's situation like he was his therapist. He hardly even wanted to say the words to Rich, "suicide", "killing yourself", those weren't words that went with his best friend. He'd never wanted them to be.

"He wrote a note. Had a gun. It's all in my car's glove box." Unbeknownst to Rich, Jake went in after his new whatever-he-was (he hesitated to use the word 'boyfriend') went back to bed and took the note from the ground, put it in his car along with the gun, and swept up the glass, hopefully quietly. If Rich was even a little bit awake, Jake hoped he thought he was doing just that - cleaning glass. He was tempted to show Jeremy the note, but held off. This wasn't for Jeremy to see. It wasn't even for Jake to see. Not until after he was dead was anyone supposed to read the note. Jake was just too nosy for his own good, and that was why he was caught in this crazy new reality, the process of healing and confessing sped up by the sense of urgency and dread Jake had on the matter, feeling like if he didn't come clean, didn't become close with Rich again, the man would slip and fall right through his grasp before he could tell him everything. He wanted to know everything about the new Richard Goranski, and he wanted Rich to know everything about the not-so-new Jake Dillinger.

  
Jeremy looked shocked, searching in Jake's eyes for some sort of hint that he was being fucked with. He found none, and let his gaze lower to the porch below them.

  
"I-...I had no idea..." Jeremy probably had some idea, Jake thought. It was abundantly clear to anyone who was even the least bit close with Rich that he was not well. These people had been with Rich for seventeen years longer than Jake, knew his every quirk and habit. Surely they had some insight into what Rich wanted with his life, which was nothing. He found himself getting just the slightest bit irritated with Jeremy and all his little friends. If they were good friends, they'd know this, they'd have helped him. He was taken out of it, though, when he remembered that he was no good friend to Rich either. He supposed they all needed to learn better how to care for their friends. And fast.

  
"It's okay." Jake said, then took it back instantly. "I mean it's _not_ okay, but I'm trying. I think, I think I'm living with him now?" It was posed as more of a question than a statement, because Jake really had no clue where to go from there. He remembered his actual wife and his actual house again, and cringed. The realization of the pit he'd dug himself was not lost on him.

  
"What about your wife? You said you had a wife, right?" Apparently, it was not lost on Jeremy either. Jake wracked his brain for an explanation that wasn't there. He didn't know the answer to 'what about your wife'. He was making it a personal goal to think as little of her as possible.

  
"I don't know. What are you supposed to do when you realize that you actually don't love the person you pledged your life to? What do you do when you've been literally pining after your best...your former best friend for half of your entire life?" He hated to be dumping his problems on Jeremy Heere now, but who else? He again found himself not wanting to frighten Rich with commitment.

  
Jeremy's smile was back a little, and now it was one of endearment. If anyone knew about pining for your best friend, it was him. For once in his life, he was a step above, a touch more experienced at something than Jake Dillinger.

Experienced at love, no less. How the proverbial tables had turned.

  
"My dad's a divorce attorney, you know." Jeremy said. "Well, he's retired, but we can get you in with someone good, if that's what you want."

  
Jake mentally smacked himself over the head. 'Duh, divorce. You could just get a divorce.' Something told him though, that it wouldn't come that easy.

  
"What-what would that take? Like, what would I have to do?"

  
Jeremy pursed his lips in thought. "Well, first you'd have to get a divorce petition. If she goes along with it, then all you'll have to do is work out your assets, your property, and kids if you had them." Jake shook his head. It wouldn't come that easy with her, certainly not. He was her only source of income.

  
Jeremy sensed his concern and continued. "If not, then you'd have to go before a judge, and I don't know much beyond that, just that it's possible. If you'd like, I could talk to my dad and get you in with someone as soon as possible."

  
For the first time that morning (at least, in front of somebody who was awake) Jake smiled. It was soft and relieved, and he nodded his head feverishly. "Yes, please. That'd be fantastic."

  
Jeremy smiled back. "Cool. Here," he took out a pen and scribbled a number on the back of a receipt that was in his coat pocket. He handed it to Jake and stowed the pen, moving to finally return to the warm inside of the house. He paused at the door, not unlike he'd done at the restaurant two nights before. "And you know, you're invited to the wedding too, i-if you want." His goofy lovestruck smile and blush returned on his pale face at the mention of his and Michael's wedding, and Jake maintained his slight grin. For once, he had something to look forward to - he just never expected it to be the idea of attending Jeremy Heere and Michael Mell's wedding, likely with Rich Goranski by his side. The two men returned to the house without another word.

  
Miraculously, Michael and Rich continued to prattle on together like Jeremy and Jake had never left. This was by far the most animated Jake had seen Rich since they reunited, loud and moving all around, a color to his face that wasn't present when he was at the bar or being awkward with Jake. The taller man's heart threatened to melt at what had to be the biggest, brightest smile in the whole world. Fuck, he had it bad.

  
Like he could sense them, Michael's eyes turned to Jake and Jeremy as they shut the door behind them, shooting his husband-to-be a questioning smirk while Rich continued to speak about something that was lost on him now. Jake slunk away, back into the kitchen to finish with the coffee, a new confidence brewing in him after his talk outside with Jeremy and the thought of being rid of his own personal ball and chain.

  
"You guys want coffee?" He called. Rich stopped talking just to smile and look down, something that didn't go unnoticed by Michael. Whatever reason Jake had for being in his good friend's house on a Friday morning, making coffee like they were married, Michael didn't much care. Rich seemed happier than he'd been at dinner on Wednesday, happier than he'd been any number of times Michael had seen him in the past few years. He chalked the depression up to being seasonal, the month of October didn't really bring him any great memories either. Sure, Rich wasn't sunny and happy any other month of the year, but it all seemed to go downhill as Halloween approached. Whatever it was, he was happy for him. Not in any way as happy as he was for himself, but he thought that was reasonable. He was getting married. He didn't know when, but he was. He wondered if Jake would stick around long enough for that, and if he did, if he even wanted Jake at his wedding. He'd never been too particularly nice to him or Jeremy, and to be fair, neither was Rich, but Rich had seventeen years to make up for it. In his mind, Jake was still the selfish jock that only cared about fucking girls and being good at everything. But anyone who could make Rich smile like that must have at least had some good intentions. He felt like a father analyzing his teenage kid's new boyfriend to make sure he wasn't a scumbag. He still wasn't sure about that, but Rich was an adult, albeit one that tended to rush into things.

  
"Nah, we're gonna head out," Michael said, pointing his thumb to the door. "We've got a lot to talk about." He smiled fondly at Jeremy, putting an arm around the narrow shoulders of his future husband. Jeremy reached up to lock his fingers with Michael's.

  
"Yeah, and work." He admitted. "I'm sure Jenna's going to want to celebrate when we tell her, so we'll probably see you guys soon."

  
Jake's breathing hitched ever-so-slightly. That meant he'd have to see Christine again. God, he felt like she was planning to kill him the next time she saw him. Who knew Christine was the mother bear type?

  
He turned around, and joined Rich's side, placing a mug in his hands. Rich beamed up at him and Jake must've turned beet red or done something to indicate that he was crazy about him because the shorter man snickered and looked back to Michael and Jeremy, in the process of heading out again.

  
"Bye," Rich waved. "Losers." His voice was full of love as he bid them goodbye. Jake reached his hand up to awkwardly wave, too, blaming his silence on a mouthful of boiling black coffee.

  
With their own waves and good-natured farewells, the two men were out the door as fast as they'd entered, leaving Rich and Jake alone together again. Jake felt his shoulders visibly sag in relief.

  
Rich broke the quick silence they shared, drinking their coffee and staring out the windows after the husbands-to-be.

  
"Don't you have to go to work, too?" He asked, a touch of worry in his voice. Jake shook his head rather proudly. He'd called in that morning, also unbeknownst to Rich, that he was handling family issues and couldn't come in. Mostly, it was true, and they adored Jake at the office, their most diligent employee, and would give him as many days off as he required.

  
"Nope. Took off. I thought maybe we could hang out today, just the two of us?" He tried at a charming smile, and it was Rich's turn to go red in the face.

  
"Yeah," Rich smiled brightly, taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm getting a little sick of this place anyway." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boyf riends? In my Richjake fic? It's more likely than you think  
> For those of you wondering why I wrote Jeremy and Michael's last names already hyphenated in a previous chapter even though theyre not married yet, it's because they're already basically married, tbh for them this wedding is just a formality  
> I switched POV's a lot during this chapter and I hope i did it smoothly enough yknow  
> Did you really think i'd set up the boyfs getting married in an earlier chapter and not use it? You underestimate me and my capacity for mentioning seemingly meaningless things then bringing them back nine chapters later.   
> Also I hoped all of you fortunate enough to see the revival enjoy(ed) it!! Im too far south to shotgun a trip to NJ so I sadly was stuck writing fanfiction like a chump. But i hope someone was sneaky enough to get a bootleg, at least an audio one. - whispers - hit me up if you got it  
> Anyways i've talked enough, I'm starvom on tumblr and as always, I hope you enjoyed!


	13. Break

Hey guys, I really hate to have to do this, but there won't be any updates for a while. I dont know how long, but definitely not this week. The holidays are coming up and between you and me, i'm very behind on writing. It's not that I've grown tired of the story, in fact it's the opposite, but I don't have a lot of time on my hands and I'm kind of in an emotional slump, and just can't be bothered to write.  
Of course, I'll still be taking your comments (and fanworks seriouly im still in love with that fan cover gosh) but just don't expect much in the way of actual updates in the next few weeks. I probably will take this time to get ahead on chapters like I was for the first five. Don't worry, I've got a lot planned, including a possible nsfw scene if that sounds like something you guys would be interested in? Let me know.  
Anyway, thank you so much for being patient, and I'm deeply sorry if you clicked this expecting an update. I hope you can bear with me for just a little longer while I get things settled.  
I'm Starvom on tumblr, and for all my friends that celebrate, happy holidays!


	14. The rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They set off for a day out, and for once, things seem alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text messages are indicated by bolded letters.

The dark, cloudy October dawn that was present during Jeremy and Jake's outdoor conversation slowly became a lighter shade of grey, the thick clouds parting just enough for a sliver of sunlight to cast itself over Rich's house as Jake stared into the outside, sipping his coffee next to the house's owner. This was that silence that he was okay with, nothing but the sound of their breaths and the occasional slurping from the man at his side as he drank the drink Jake made for him. Rich liked his practically more cream than coffee, something he remembered from when they were teenagers and would skip school to grab a cup from whatever café was hip with the kids at the time. He remembered almost every little detail about Rich, and had long since stopped pretending like that was a normal thing to do for a man you weren't in contact with anymore. He took that brief moment to look, really look at Rich for the first time. Sure he'd seen his now adult childhood best friend, had plenty of time to notice all of the little things about him that had changed over the years, but he never really let himself think about what he was seeing, probably due to the fear of falling in love with him all over again. He realized that was a wasted sentiment, since he fell back in love with Rich regardless of how hard he studied the man's new, adult features.

  
As he observed earlier, Rich had probably not grown even half an inch since high school. Granted, neither had Jake, but he was always heads above his peers - he'd hit his growth spurt at only the tender age of twelve and simply did not stop. Rich, for the few years they'd been in each other's company, only went up to his shoulder. He'd never allowed himself to think about how endearing it was that he could use Rich as an effective armrest, should they ever get so close for him to be able to lean on Rich casually instead of in the middle of some great heartbreak or tearful confession. When he looked at it through the gaze of an unmarried man who could just think these things about another unmarried man and not feel a crippling amount of guilt, a lot of things about Rich were endearing. Even under the layer of masculine five o'clock shadow that Rich now bore after a day passed without shaving, he had a cherub's face, dotted with freckles and an only slightly crooked button nose from the time he shattered the bridge trying to do a skateboard trick in his backyard when they were kids. Jake smiled. He could finally enjoy fond memories of him and Rich without feeling the need to push them as far back into his head as they could go. He supposed this was what they called progress.

  
Of course, it wasn't really the things about Rich that hadn't changed that caught Jake's eye. Probably nothing on the man's person caught eyes more than his skin, the patchy, shiny tracts of flesh that were darker than the rest of his fair complexion. Third degree burns. It made Jake's throat go dry. He had the memory of Rich, writhing on his bedroom floor as the fire seared him black imbedded into his mind like a war flashback. He remembered the sickly feeling of Rich's burning skin sticking to his hands as he tried to gather him into his arms to escape the ruins of his childhood home. He hated thinking about it, but couldn't deny that this single memory plagued his nightmares more than any horror story ever could. He bit back those memories and shoved the coffee mug past his lips again, hoping to replace the sudden dryness of his mouth with bitter caffeine. He downed it and pretended like he'd completely forgotten the object of his night terrors, setting the mug down and clearing his throat before speaking.

  
"Let's...let's clean up, yeah?" He asked, breaking the comfortable silence when he noticed that he was standing in the middle of Rich's perpetual garbage pile, his home. He didn't know what he meant - clean up the dishes, the house itself, their lives - but he supposed it was the mountain of dirty plates that miraculously hadn't managed to attract a swarm of hungry flies. He moved to the front of the sink with Rich in tow, surprisingly giving no protests to cleaning his stuff for the first time in god knew how long. Rich looked down at his mess, ashamedly. He likely hadn't even thought about the heap of plates and cups that once held cheap Chinese takeout or liquor over ice when he felt particularly fancy in his self-destruction that night. Just like he hadn't thought about the laundry, or the yard, or the garbage. A dying man held no obligations. 'Too bad,' Jake thought proudly. 'You're not a dying man as long as I'm here'.

  
It was hard to know where to start. There wasn't much room in the sink, so Jake consolidated some of the pile onto the kitchen counter and filled the now roomier sink with hot water. Rich looked on as if he'd never done dishes before in his life, but Jake knew he had. Someone had to wash the dishes here back when his father was alive and useless. The few times he'd been in Rich's home during adolescence, Rich and his brother had created the illusion of a well-maintained, humble home. They weren't well-off, nowhere near as wealthy as his family was (albeit for illegitimate reasons) but the house looked put together if you could ignore the family's inebriated patriarch snoozing on the couch with a forty in his hands. Jake placed the nearly full bottle of dish soap in Rich's hands as if to nudge him towards work. The smaller man nodded to silence, squeezing the blue liquid into a rag he pulled from the already filthy sink water.

They created a rhythm, Rich scrubbing old grime off his plates, Jake drying them with a towel and setting them on the other side of the sink. It wasn't interesting or anything other than mundane, but Jake took comfort in knowing that if he urged him, Rich would do things to improve his general quality of life. He wondered to what extent Rich would go just to satisfy him, and felt a little sad at the notion that the answer was probably any. He really wasn't living for himself. As long as he was living, Jake could excuse his blind devotion to a man that felt he really wasn't all that he was cracked up to be. As long as he was living.

  
They finished, and Jake smiled slightly when he caught a glimpse of pride in his friend's hazel eyes. Maybe tonight, they'd clean the rest of the house. Jake had nowhere else to be, after all. His smile dropped at the mental mention of his wife. Rich's presence seemed to carry that weight off him, especially when they were kissing, spooning on his couch like Gemma didn't even exist in the first place. But she was still there, and so was her mark. He reached again to touch his cheek, still there and no longer stinging. It hadn't stung for a while, but he always expected it to burn his fingers every time he felt it. It wasn't even that physically painful. She wasn't strong enough to actually hurt him in any way but verbally, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

Never in his life had he ever been deliberately hit. Not by his parents, they weren't abusive, just neglectful. Not by other school kids, they knew better than to start something with him. And all because she had a preconceived notion of what he did in his one day away from her. Was he really so avoidant she thought his work days, the days he spent earning money so she could feed her drinking, her selfish indulgence, were all ruses for him to see some woman? He'd often suspected her of the same thing, but he'd never call her out on it without some sort of damning evidence, of which neither of them had. He hadn't even texted Rich, there was no trace of him on his phone. His recent text messages consisted of his boss, his financial advisor, and her. He couldn't have possibly been more faithful, even when he was completely uninvested in her and being her husband. He gritted his teeth, and Rich must've noticed his strange behavior, because he was still fondling his cheek when the man looked up at him curiously.

  
"Hey," Jake said, retracting his hand from his face like he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't. He noticed that when they had nothing to do together, even the most menial of tasks, they returned to being awkward. They weren't making out, they weren't congratulating Michael and Jeremy on their union, they weren't washing dishes. They didn't know what to say to each other unless they were recovering from some recent trauma or doing some task. 'Oh well,' Jake thought. 'You can't expect this to move as quickly as it does in the movies.'

  
"Hey," Rich smiled slightly up at him, and Jake was relieved to find that it wasn't distorted like it had whenever they returned to exchanging awkward side-glances and words. Maybe Rich was comfortable - maybe there was just something wrong with Jake. There were so many 'maybes' and 'what ifs' that came with re-involving yourself in a severed friendship. No one spoke their minds, at least not without a physically painful amount of anxiety to come along with it. Jake preferred this to the hopeless feeling of dread he felt only two days ago, but then, at least he knew he had a chance to escape if things got rough. Now, not only was it too late to just disappear on Rich again, but he felt as if he couldn't, he was attached. Where before, he could dismiss those unfaithful thoughts and remind himself that Rich probably didn't want to see him again anyway, now he could not be rid of the thought of ditching his old life, moving back to Middle Borough and maybe beyond, regaining the trust and the comfort he'd broken all those years back with the most subjectively perfect man he'd ever laid eyes on. Plus, he and Jeremy Heere alike believed that Jake was going to fix this, fix Rich. Hell, they'd even just cleaned dishes together, who knew how long it was since Rich even picked up after himself without the aid of another person? In him brewed equal parts hope and fear, and Jake figured the twisting, anxious, lovesick pit in his stomach was here to stay. He could live with that.

  
Jake looked to the clock on the dormant stove next to him. It was 8:00 on the dot. He put a tentative hand to Rich's shoulder, glad he didn't have to come into direct contact with his marred skin.

  
"Let's get dressed. The Menlo Park Mall still around? We could go out and..." he trailed off, ending his sentence with a shrug that indicated that he really didn't know what to do, but hoping Rich picked up on his nurturing of the idea of spending simple, quality time with Rich where there was no goal in mind and hopefully, no tears. It was depressingly sobering to remind himself that he was not quite back to being best buddies with him, even if they were getting somewhere. And he supposed "getting somewhere" meant making out with him on a couch. Despite his recent relationship blunders saying otherwise, he knew things would not be completely mended with Rich in mere days. He was just staggeringly lucky that Rich was willing to perish the thought of suicide at Jake's return. They had grown into deeply troubled individuals and needed time. Bonding time. He had this whole uninterrupted weekend to do it, too. Jake didn't know when he became so diligent and goal-oriented, but he supposed that was just the side of him Rich brought out.

  
Rich smiled and nodded. "Yeah, it's still around. You should know by now that this town doesn't change, Jake."

  
Jake's lips too formed a grin. He did know that. Before, the city's fear of all things different had depressed him, made him feel way more kinship with his hometown than he wanted. He didn't change either. He always felt like the same boneheaded jock kid that drowned his sorrows in girls and liquor and sports. Girls and liquor and sports had been replaced with an assiduous and possibly obsessive work ethic, but it was still a distraction from things he was too emotionally exhausted to face. Now, this town felt more like a camaraderie between him and Rich, something they could share in and talk about, a mutual disdain for their two-bit city and all the misery it attracted.

  
They departed from the new slightly less filthy kitchen to get dressed, Jake to the bathroom and Rich to his room. Jake thought it fair that he not be allowed in Rich's bedroom unsupervised anymore,. He wondered what secrets Rich had in this house were worse than his death notice. He suspected none.

  
In the bag he'd brought from home, he'd brought clothes to last him at least a week, plus his sleeping clothes. He also packed a toothbrush and his phone. If the circumstances weren't so sad, he'd feel like a kid staying at a friends' house for the night. Though, the times he spent at Rich's house were never happy, fun sleepovers, and they came without notice. He usually had no time to pack anything, and stayed with Rich through the night with only the clothes on his back. It had gotten to the point where he kept a change of clothes to go to school in for the day after. He figured Rich threw them all away. He dressed simply, like he always did. He knew he'd get recognized even if he wasn't as plain-looking as one could possibly be, so he never bothered dressing any more fashionable than some simple jeans and a T-shirt. He reached into the bag that held his clothes to find his cellphone. Two missed calls, three new messages. It didn't take a genius to know who they were from, but that was what caller ID was for anyway.

**Gem  
baby, im so sorry**

No she wasn't.

**Gem  
Pls call me back**

In her dreams.

**Gem  
Jake please call me back, im worried about you baby**

Right. Three messages and two calls, deleted. He wouldn't even entertain the thought of hearing her out. A part of him felt like he was being incredibly petty and irrational, but he'd come to terms with the fact that Rich made him irrational the moment he decided to stay the night at his house after dinner two nights before. He guessed the petty part of him had always been there. He reached into the pocket of the sweatpants he'd slept in and pulled out Jeremy's number, scribbled on a receipt from 7-Eleven. He punched the numbers into his phone and created a new contact for the man who'd help him get his life back from the vindictive, bitter clutches of the other half of his loveless marriage. He texted a quick message to Jeremy, indicating that it was him, then shoved the phone into his pocket. Fully dressed, he opened the door to find that he'd finished dressing about the same time as Rich, and was now staring down at his old friend, finally in a (hopefully) clean set of clothes. Rich turned his gaze down, though he wasn't meeting Jake's eyes in the first place due to his height. Jake gave a soft, reassuring smile. He really did love the sight of Rich, always had. He always had a certain charm to him in the way he held himself, and he wasn't bad looking either. Jake wouldn't admit to it, but in high school, he spent many a night dreaming of that perfect face and those perfect eyes, the face of his best friend. For a long time, the memory was spoiled and painful, because that face was no longer the face of his best friend, but of a stranger. As he got closer to Rich, the memory became soft and sweet again, no longer a shameful recurring thought or dream he had to shove down inside him in fear of confronting the fact that he didn't love the woman he was with, because she didn't have a soft, sweet face or a laugh to cure cancer. She wasn't there for him when the pressure he put on himself got too much to bear, when he was sore about not being allowed to have a proper childhood. Rich was everything she was not, and more. In high school, Rich thought and held himself as a tough, abrasive, frankly mean-spirited kid. But Jake knew him just as well. He was hopelessly in love with Rich Goranski for nineteen years and counting, and now, he had his shot.

  
"Ready?" Jake asked, a new bout of confidence overtaking him.

  
Rich nodded, flashing his tooth gap when he smiled. "Ready."

  
They turned and left Rich's house, a calm comfort in their hearts for the first time in what felt like years. Jake eyed his Volvo from the corner of his eye where it sat idle in Rich's driveway. A twinge of guilt and anxiety rose in his gut when he remembered how he'd stolen Rich's pistol, how he was so deeply afraid that it would only tempt his friend closer to his maker. He was being dishonest, and he told himself he wouldn't hide things from Rich anymore. Still, he found some sort of rationality and comfort in knowing that as long as he kept Rich appeased and entertained and feeling loved, he wouldn't have to face the question of what had happened to the gun. They'd live through this Halloween and more, soon the gun and the note would be distant memories. Things would be easy and fine, just like Jake dreamed they'd be. He'd get a divorce attorney, move he and Rich out of his dad's one-story shit-hole and go somewhere, settle down, if not as lovers, than as very close friends.

Was that reasonable? He wanted to look to the skies and question god, "Could we just have this one thing? Please?" They'd lived for so long in this suffering, he felt they were more than due for some divine intervention here. Jake felt himself mentally reel when he reminded himself that there was no intervention to be had. He'd have to make this work by himself, Rich would have to make his side of things work by himself. This was still a good start.

  
With little persuasion on Jake's part, they resolved to make the walk to the mall instead of riding together in Jake's car. They could use the fresh air, anyway.

  
As they walked together on the development sidewalks, it almost made Jake's head spun as he remembered just how familiar these specific roads were. How many times had he driven Rich away from danger, or driven to comfort him in times of danger? How many times had he fled his lonely existence, driving recklessly just to find companionship in his best friend, his most trusted friend? It was nostalgic, and for once, a good kind of nostalgic. The trees with their dying leaves, the gloomy yet comforting sky, being in Rich's company. He looked down. Rich looked content, breaths coming out as visible puffs of air in the cold October sky. It was here that he could see the clearest, the lack of sunlight making his skin appear paler, and his scars darker. The worst of them were around his face and arm, pinched and shiny, pink in some places, brown in others. It was very clear to anyone that Rich had been in some kind of horrible trauma or accident, and he remembered hearing bits and pieces of conversation about Middle Borough High's resident burn ward horror story. Nasty things to say about anybody, even about someone Jake had, at the time, convinced himself was just another hindrance to his happiness and life as more than just Mr. Perfect. In the bubble he'd been containing himself in for seventeen years, he seemed to have forgotten the fact that the world continued to turn even when he wasn't invested in it. Rich's life was harmed by the fire, too. That much was abundantly clear. He wanted to reach and grab Rich's hand and say he was sorry yet again, but rationality still continued to precede him, telling him that they weren't quite that close yet.

  
"So, fill me in," Jake said, breaking their comfortable silence. "What's new around here?"

  
Rich smiled and gave a lazy shrug. "Not a damn thing. People move in and out, but, like, that's it, really. Brooke and Chloe went around '26, moved to Cape May, everyone says Chicago, but it's Cape May."

  
Jake nodded. He heard it was Chicago, too. "Seaside, huh? Bet that's fun. A lot better than-" he gestured at the crumbling city streets with his hands. "-this."

  
Rich gave an endearing little laugh at that, and Jake physically felt his smile threaten to tear his face in half from how much he loved that laugh. It wasn't even a big one, just a chuckle. Boy, did he have it bad.

  
Rich noticed his oddly wide grin and matched it, though raising one eyebrow quizzically. "What?" He asked. Jake's face flushed and he raised a hand to cover his mouth. 'God,' he thought. 'I can't believe people actually used to think i was smooth.'

  
"Nothing, it's nothing, just-" he inhaled sharply. "It's crazy." He gave a breathy chuckle, hoping he'd dissolved the embarrassment of getting caught looking at Rich like he was his whole world. He was, but he didn't have to know that. Rich finally let his inquisitive gaze drop, smile still pulling at his lips.

  
"You say that a lot, you know. 'It's crazy'."

  
"Well, I mean, it is," Jake rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the words to explain it. "I just, I haven't seen you in so long, but it's like nothing's changed."

  
Rich's smile visibly faltered, but did not die. Jake was thankful for that. He continued when Rich didn't respond.

  
"I thought I'd never see you again." He didn't mean to get so emotional here, on their first walk out, away from all the emotional shit, but he wanted to let Rich know how he felt. He wanted Rich to know everything about him, and vice versa. He wanted to be close with this man again.

  
Rich's eyes took on an empathic and touched quality, and he tentatively reached a hand out to put on Jake's. The contact was short yet comforting, and Jake desired more than anything to take that hand and lace his fingers between it, but Rich retreated and so did he.

  
"Well," Rich responded timidly, giving a halfhearted shrug. "Here I am."

  
Jake smiled, though he never lost his smile in the first place. "I'm glad."  
They set off to the mall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm back, hopefully!  
> A light chapter, split up because i know ive been missing for a while and I guess i havent teased you all enough. Im not cruel, i swear  
> So yep, my birthday was last Friday and I've been a little preoccupied with parties and buying gifts and just the holiday season in general. (Late birthday gifts are appreciated if you wanna make some fanwooorks *eyes emoji*)  
> But! I hope you dont mind the fluff, i just thought maybe they deserved it, yknow? Next part will not be as fluffy, i promise. Yeah, i guess i actually am kinda cruel.  
> That's all for now, i'm Starvom on tumblr if you wanna talk, seriously, i'd love to hear from you guys. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, or just, happy winter season. Hope you enjoyed!


	15. And The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should know better. This town wants nothing more than to see him crash and burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rich’s P.O.V.  
> Italics indicate the Squip’s words, ‘single quotes’ indicate Rich’s own thoughts.  
> Welcome back.

Rich Goranski could deny a lot of things. He could deny that he had a serious drinking problem. He could deny that he needed help just getting through the day, needed a pick-me-up from Jeremy or Michael or the like just to make opening his eyes in the morning a bearable task. He could deny the voice that still rang in his head more than periodically, and deny it with whole-hearted spite he could only muster anymore for the thing that'd made his life great for a year, and made it god-awful for the next seventeen. He could deny that he was absolutely, batshit-crazily, madly, terribly, wonderfully, vomit-inducingly in love with Jake Dillinger. He'd be denying the truth, but at least he could garner up enough willpower to deny those truths at all.

The one thing he could not deny, however, was that he was fucking terrified of going outside. Sure he _went_ outside. But it was at the will of his friends - where he went, what he ate, who he saw. And his friends knew about everything, about the looks he got and the whispers that followed him. When he wasn't at the mercy of Michael Mell's shitty old cruiser, he was just grabbing a drink, which, since he'd become a regular at a dive bar no one in their right mind would willingly come to unless they were a regular, didn't bring him much, if any anxiety. Also, he was tanked whenever he was there, so he wouldn't care if they did talk or stare anyway.

But this? This was torture. Jake probably had an idea of what followed his new kinda-sorta-friend-with-possible-benefits, but it was unfathomable for a practical stranger, an outsider to understand and be okay with all of this attention. Not to mention he was walking with Jake Dillinger, the guy everyone knew about despite the fact that he presumably hadn't shown his face in this town for anything, not even the Middle Borough high school reunions that happened every five years. Rich didn't go to those either, and he didn't need to. He and Jake were one in the same in that they were both resident celebrities, albeit for opposite reasons. On one side of the spectrum was Jake Dillinger - Middle Borough's golden boy and king of everything, football star since he was ten, president of the Model UN, a practical god who sat in his throne in heaven with his important office job and his trophy wife, judging his peers like mere mortals. On the exact opposite was Rich Goranski - heir to the title of Town Drunk, inherited by his dad who beat the living crap out of his kids and didn't care who knew about it, covered in nasty scars from that time he went crazy and burnt down Jake Dillinger's house, probably because he was gay or jealous. Rich hoped Jake wouldn't notice how absolutely ready to faint he felt, building up grandiose descriptions in his head about how opposite they were, how Rich was useless and unworthy and how Jake probably knew that.

No, no. They were healing, things were getting better. He had to remind himself that Jake loved him, right? And right now, it didn't matter what that love was, platonic, romantic, he was just happy that Jake was talking to him and that they were just as comfortable getting sad and emotional with each other as before, though they didn't seem to be comfortable with much outside the realm of crying and talking about their regrets. He told Michael that morning that he thought he might actually have a shot, and that he'd probably end up spilling everything about the Squip and freshman year to Jake sometime soon. That was scary, but not nearly as mortifying as watching Jake Dillinger read his suicide note and then look at him with those disappointed, captivating brown eyes. But things, by all accounts, should have been looking up.

Still, having Jake at his side, for once, was not what he wanted. Not in this situation. He knew Jake always hated attention and pressure, and sadly, attention followed Rich wherever he went. The pressure was Jake's own burden to bear, but they both had the drawing attention part down pat. Even walking down the street that met the end of his development, the street that turned onto the main part of town, he felt anxious, like eyes were already on him, on them. Something, the more rational and kind part of the Squip told him that he was old news now, that no one cared what he looked like anymore. But Rich supposed he could only listen to it when it was mocking him for one thing or another. It wasn't that they weren't familiar with his condition, with his mauled skin, it was just that no one really expected him to leave his house. They'd talk, and Rich knew what happened when people started to talk.

He steeled himself and kept up with Jake's brisk pace as they turned onto Main Street. It was still relatively early for the city, the only pedestrians around were working class folks who had no time to stop and stare at anything, let alone the two of them. Rich felt his shoulders sag in relief as he saw that not a single eye was trained on him as the population went about their way, checking their watches and hurrying their steps so they wouldn’t be late. Some school kids, clearly skipping, had discarded their backpacks in favor of loitering outside a local hangout, one Rich and Jake both remembered cutting class to go to as well. How long had it been since they were those troubled kids hanging outside a shop corner until the owner told them to scram? It felt incredibly distant yet so familiar at the same time. Like this city, they didn’t do much growing or changing, either.

Jake was clearly not a very good small talker, and Rich wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not. Some small talk might ease a little bit of the tension in his gut, but the thought of only being able to make useless small talk with Jake was physically revolting. Sure, the fact that he was here and talking to him at all was a blessing, but he just wanted Jake to be able to talk to him like they used to talk to each other, with mad gestures and laughing fits every two minutes from the ridiculous jokes they shared. It dawned on him though that the laughter they shared, the jokes he’d made were all the Squip’s words, and that without it he really wasn’t sure how he could kindle that kind of familiarity with Jake ever again. His heart practically ached with longing. He wondered, grimly, if they were still selling the grey pills at the mall and if it would be all that bad of an idea to invest in one again.

‘No, stupid. That’s the _worst_ idea.’

Yeah, probably.

They approached the Menlo Park Mall, still standing, bustling as ever despite the fact that most of the population probably had jobs to do and things more important than window shopping and splurging on things they didn’t need. If there was anything the residents of their shitty little New Jersey town knew, it was materialism and gossip. Rich had been here about three weeks ago, with Christine, not looking to really buy anything but just wanting to get out of his house and/or bar. It was more like Christine fretting over him like she always did, and dragging him somewhere to hang out with her so he wouldn’t have to drown himself in unhealthy coping mechanisms. The mall probably wasn’t the best place for that, but it was reassuring to know that their group’s designated mother hen was looking out for him. She really was a saint.

He remembered what she’d said to him the day he dropped out of school, the first semester of junior year. She’d said that the next time she saw Jake Dillinger, she’d give him a piece of her mind. He had smiled at that, his then new friend wasn’t violent in the slightest, couldn’t hurt a fly, but would be damned if she wasn’t ride-or-die as hell for her friends. He didn’t know if Jake ever received that “piece of her mind”, but knew it would’ve hurt if he did. It always hurt to be on the nice one’s bad side. The dinner they’d shared had emanated discomfort between those two specifically. He’d warm her up to him eventually. Hopefully. Maybe? God, he had to learn to shut his mind the fuck up every once and a while.

They got five feet into the mall before Rich was floored. What the hell was their game plan here? Just walk around? No time spent with Jake was necessarily boring in his eyes, but were they really out here, was Rich really out in the open, one of his biggest anxieties, just to window shop? Jake instantly noticed that he’d stopped, and turned back to look at him questioningly. Rich melted. He did every time he saw the man.

“You alright?” He asked, concerned. He had grown to hate concern. People treating him like he was a glass doll, like he’d fly off the walls like a maniac at any second. He felt just might, but they didn’t need to know that. No one knew how he felt, just wanted to feel like they were helping. He knew his friends were genuine in caring for his well-being, but it got annoying sometimes. Jake’s concern was not annoying. It was like he was a fucking junkie for it. ‘No,’ he thought. ‘No, I’m not alright, but you can help. You can fix me, please, please fix me.’ He swallowed and plastered on a fake smile he hoped Jake would read.

“Yeah.” He stepped forward to return to Jake’s side.

“Cool, uh,” Jake gave an awkward sort of half-laugh, something clearly on his mind. “I was thinking maybe we could pop into a few clothing stores.” When Rich didn’t respond, just gave him a confused flick of his eyebrows, he continued.

“You-you know, since I’ll be away from my house for a while. I was also thinking maybe you could get some too, on me, of course.” Jake sputtered out a little too quickly to understand initially, blushing heavily. It was incredibly reassuring to know Jake was a nervous fool, too.

When Rich processed what he’d said, the smaller man understood his angle. Despite the Squip insisting in the back of his mind that shopping for new clothes was a much more troubling sentiment than it probably was, he knew Jake meant well. If he truly was embarrassed to be seen with a man in stained and wrinkled hand-me-downs from his big brother, Rich would’ve understood. He didn’t look good, he knew that. His brother gave him most of the shirts he owned since they were never really that well-off as kids, and when you’re poor, living with a deadbeat who couldn’t be fucked to take you back-to-school shopping once a year, you made do with what you had. But Jake was never one to really care about appearances or keeping a status, mostly because it came effortlessly to him. He probably just saw the squalor Rich lived in and wanted to help.

_Sure. Sure he does._

‘Fuck off and die.’

“Yeah, okay,” Rich said almost breathlessly, the heated mall air coupled with their roughly ten minute walk and his persistent anxiety making him a sweaty, exhausted mess underneath his jacket. Still, he wouldn’t take off that coat in here for anything. The scars on his arms were the most severe.

They continued their trek, Jake clearly scanning faces in the moderate crowd to see who he recognized. Rich recognized most of them, not all from his school days, most were just familiar faces from around town. Even if he was a recluse, he had lived in this town since he was crawling. It was mostly disgruntled mothers with children and rebellious school kids that found themselves too cool to go to class on time or at all. ‘Just wait, kids.’ He thought with an inward chuckle. ‘That stuff doesn’t last.’

The first store that seemed to catch either of their interests was not a clothing store, but a music store. Rich chuckled a bit when he saw how Jake stopped dead in his tracks like a kid enticed by a toy in the window. The ‘toys’ were actually pricy, acoustic guitars that shone under the florescent lights of the mall.

“You play?” He asked with a light smile. He didn’t know Jake played any instrument. At least he didn’t in high school. It was one of the few extra-curriculars that Jake hadn’t made himself a part of.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck shyly, turning red again. “A bit. I learned in college so I could...” he gave an embarrassed huff of a laugh. “...Pick up college chicks.”

Rich gave a loud snort as he tried in vain to suppress a fit of laughter. Thankfully, Jake found it in good humor too and smiled wider, clearly endeared by his old friend’s ugly laugh. He’d always had an ugly laugh that Jake had only gotten to hear a handful of times since the Squip did its best to make sure no one would hear it. He commented on it once, calling it cute, which, though followed by a quick “no homo”, made Rich’s heart flutter. He’d received an electrical shock for it once he was in private, but the Squip couldn’t shock away the light and airy feeling he got being called “cute” in any sense by Jake Dillinger.

When Rich had recovered from his brief bout of laughter, he said, smiling and with good cheer in his heart, “Are you any good? Maybe you could play for me sometime.”

Jake ducked his head humbly, seeming to ponder that honestly. “I haven’t in a while, but if you’re actually interested, I think we’ve got my old seven-string in the attic.”

Rich continued to beam up at him, noting the sad glint in his eyes whenever he talked about his home. He wondered how Jake’s wife felt about all of this. If she was really as overbearing as Jake made him believe, she probably didn’t like it. He couldn’t imagine Jake up and leaving some pretty girl for him. He was no pretty girl. He was overtaken with that feeling of being inadequate again, and his smile faltered, hopefully not enough for Jake to pick up on.

_That poor woman. Her husband left her for an ugly, drunk wretch._

Rich shut his eyes and clenched his fists. Not now, not today. They continued walking.

They stopped at a general clothing store, one Rich wasn’t familiar with. He’d never done much shopping, never had the budget for it, but Jake seemed to know what he was doing. So far, their outing wasn’t too terribly anxiety-inducing, and Rich felt a placidness wash over him as he watched Jake look at clothes clearly more suited towards him than Rich - button ups and plain, solid-colored T-shirts. Also the clothes he sifted through were clearly meant for someone who *wasn’t* five feet and five inches tall. Rich supposed he’d just pick out some tank tops or graphic tees on their way to the counter, he wasn’t picky and held himself at lower standards. He didn’t need a business suit.

Oh, crap. Suits. He needed to get one for Jeremy and Michael’s wedding, whenever the fuck that would be. They didn’t seem like the type of couple to color coordinate, maybe save for their typical red and blue color scheme. Would they even have a formal wedding? Formal being used incredibly loosely - they’d probably pull some nerd shit, Rich chuckled to himself. Would they have a best man? Would _he_ be a best man? The thought made him slightly giddy. If he had anything, at least, it was that he had people that liked him enough to make him a best man of anything. He hadn’t even expected to live past this Halloween a few days ago. Now he was thinking about suits and being a best man? Jake Dillinger was truly remarkable. But, you didn’t need to be smart to know that.

He was affected, then, with a strange sort of anxiety. He couldn’t ruin Michael and Jeremy’s wedding. He couldn’t die when the happy couple expected him to be there. He’d decided he wouldn’t go through with his morbid plan already, but now the pressure truly weighed on him. His doubts were persistent, what if Jake woke up from whatever delusions he was going through? What if he would be alone again? God, he couldn’t manage that. He’d have to live, he’d have to survive alone because that was what everyone expected of him now, to live and thrive, but the reality was that he was only thriving by Jake’s merit. If Jake decided to leave, he’d be gone. And Rich would be alone again. And that house would be empty of all but him, his volatile thoughts, and the ghosts of his father’s bad choices. His mind never seemed to give him a break, and he knew this was partly his own fault. He felt his chest tightening. He wouldn’t be able to keep his jacket on much longer.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna-“ he tugged on Jake’s sleeve lightly, like a child trying to get its mother’s attention. He was going to say that he had to find a restroom so he could be free of this tension, of the threat of imposing eyes and a public panic attack, but the words became caught in his throat when a feminine voice called out to the man whose name had been living on his tongue and in his heart for seventeen years.

“Jake? Jake Dillinger?” Both of their heads snapped to the side where a lithe woman, about an inch taller than Rich stood in her nice, expensive outfit and looking very out of place in this men’s clothing store. She had an arm full of dress pants, no doubt for whatever man she’d come here with. Her blonde hair fell in waves around her shoulder, tied into a ponytail and curled elegantly at the ends.

Madeline.

Jake straightened, looking only a fraction as uncomfortable as he probably felt standing face-to-face with a girl, no, a woman that, seventeen odd years ago, he’d had his penis inside of. That was a blunt way to put it, and if Rich wasn’t so mortified, he’s snigger at his peculiar way of wording things. But there was no laughter in his heart anymore. They’d been noticed.

Jake gave a little cough, then a fake, surprised smile. “Hey, Madeline!” His voice reeked with false pleasure. “It’s been years.” Clearly this was a practiced response, it sounded like Jake had those words set to a push of a button in his mind, they came out like an automated voice message that activated whenever he met someone from his past that he really couldn’t give less of a shit about. Rich didn’t blame him. She radiated pompousness and superiority, and had since she was young. That was the kind of woman that dared to cross Chloe Valentine. But Chloe Valentine had grown up and out of that. Rich got the sneaking suspicion that Madeline did not.

“It has! My god, you haven’t changed at all.” Rich sneered inwardly. What would she know about Jake Dillinger and how he’d changed? At least she wasn’t speaking with that transparently faulty French accent. The need to escape heightened, but in an effort to be as unnoticeable as possible, he stayed put. She and everyone else already thought he was enough of a freak.

Jake chuckled a bit, looking about as interested in the conversation as someone waiting in line at the DMV, but his politeness preceded him. “How’ve you been? You look great.”

She brushed her hair back and gave a perfect, bleached smile. She had a very over-the-top ring on her finger, and Rich didn’t doubt they were real diamonds. She didn’t live in Middle Borough anymore, he knew because he remembered the summer he and his peers would be turning twenty two, she packed up and went to Canada and there was no word of her ever coming back. Lucky them, they’d been blessed with a rare appearance. Her sickly saccharine perfume made Rich’s head spin even worse than the anxiety.

“I’ve been well. Me and my husband were in town to meet some old friends, I was buying him something to wear. A party, you know.” Yes, they both knew about parties. Parties gave and took from both of them. Jake hadn’t been to a gathering any bigger than a ten-person get-together since high school. Rich, understandably, had been to none in the same time frame. “How about you, how’ve you been? No one I know here has heard from you since high school, I was a little worried! Though, I bet it’s just because you’re a big-shot now, right?” Her jovial smile gave way that she was poking fun, but her tone implied resentment. Why, God, did Madeline Leblanc, of all the times, have to be here, now?

Jake’s eyes displayed a sort of restrained irritation. He knew she was scrutinizing him, wanting to see what the great Jake Dillinger had done with himself since breaking her heart in the eleventh grade. Wanted to hear how successful he’d been so she could rant and rave to her husband about what a self-important prick he was, talking about his achievements even though she was the one who requested him.

“Uh-I mean, yeah, I live over in Woodbridge with my-“ he swallowed at that. “-with my wife. Work at a business firm, not really ‘big-shot’ standards, I guess.” There was that awkward little chuckle of his. Madeline hadn’t looked at or acknowledged Rich once. Rich was more than okay with that.

“That’s great, it was so good to see you, you know.” Her face was almost smug, staring him down like he was her next meal. In Rich’s freshman year, she purposefully stuck her bright pink heels out in front of him as he’d walked the halls, making him land flat on his face and breaking his glasses. The other kids laughed and jeered, and he had to go home and get scolded by his dad for breaking something he’d so graciously bought Rich with his own money. Rich hated her ever since. That same expression was on her face when she sent him tumbling to the ground. That smug sense of superiority over everyone that she deemed lesser. He knew Jake saw it too.

“You too.” Jake said with finality, as if ready to end their conversation as soon as possible. She nodded, still smiling. As one last gesture of petty rudeness, she glanced down at Rich, and her smile dropped to the floor as if she’d just seen a car crash. She gave a quick, fleeting survey of his burnt, scarred body, then flicked her eyes back up to Jake to smile and make her exit. Rich wished she’d looked longer so she could catch the utter contempt in his eyes, hoping they’d communicate the message that he was currently thinking about spitting right on her glossy white pumps.

“You have a great day, Jake.” And with that, she was gone.

Jake made an indignant little scoff as if to share in Rich’s scorn but the other man was clearly shaken. His face was blotchy and red, and sweat beaded at his forehead. He looked equally as troubled as he felt. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have left his house, shouldn’t have entertained the thought of a normal life. He longed for the neck of a bottle, wanting to poison himself again and again until he forgot that he was known to all that went to Middle Borough at the same time as him as the dejected, outcasted drunk that couldn’t be trusted or endured because if you did, he might just set you on fire. He wanted to drink and forget the staggering path his dad made for him when he made the name Goranski the name of that family with the alcoholic dad and the two sad, beaten boys that would probably go nowhere and do nothing remarkable with their lives, repeating the cycle until every Goranski in Middle Borough was dead or missing or changed their name. He felt as if he was overreacting - he _always_ overreacted, but the image of Madeline’s arrogant gaze as she saw him for the first time in many years, yet still knowing his face and his skin and his faults, it would not leave him. Their eyes, their judging, spiteful eyes watched him, watched him since he was a very tiny boy being beaten and pushed around publicly by the same man his peers parents’ went to school with. They watched his dad, they watched him, and they’d be watching his brother if he wasn’t thousands of miles away, a successful lawyer with a wife and kids despite all he’d been through. It was a miserable thing, to feel so happy and like he could thrive take on the world again with Jake by his side only to leave his house and remember that he hadn’t thrived in seventeen long, painful years.

_Jake doesn’t need this kind of baggage in his life. All you do is weigh him down._

‘Yes,’ he thought. ‘Yes, you’re right. You’re always right.’

“Rich?” Jake’s voice called through the haze.

But Rich was already out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, eh? You should know I’d return with angst. Two chapters of good thinhs happening to Rich? Gotta intereupt that.
> 
> //im sorry rich i love you hunny youre my favorite
> 
> But yeah, the depression kind of hit me again. I just really couldnt be bothered to write anything, but I read some good novels, got invested in a new fandom (jjba, if youre wondering) and I’ve got at least a little inspiration again. This weekend I’ll probably write some just so i dont lose my motivational streak. Also, i’m sorry if you hc madeline as being a good person, i needed an antagonist that wasnt jake’s thunderbitch of a wife or Jake’s own self-destructive thoughts. We probably wont see her again though. Is her husband Dustin Kropp? Is he just a throwaway character only mentioned in passing? I’ll never tell...  
> Anyway, i missed you guys! You made this whole thing worth it and I hope at least some of you have stuck around for my return. I figured now is a better time than ever to post this, since the fandom is still kinda buzzing from the pitiful children video. If youre wondering my thoughts on that....meh.  
> But in any case, it’s good to be back. I’m starvom on tumblr if you wanna talk, and as always, I hope you enjoyed!


	16. Black Lung Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise, but, tragically, everything else stays marginally the same.

Jake didn’t know what happened.

One minute, they were laughing. Jake was telling Rich shyly about how he’d learned guitar sometime after high school because he knew that was what college girls liked, sensitive, cool guys that played guitar, wrote their own songs. It was a stupid memory that he hated and was embarrassed by, because real musicians and artists didn’t pick up a craft just so they could meet a sociology major and have an unfulfilling and unhealthy marriage with her for the next ten years. But telling it to Rich, it was like his failed guitar escapades were meaningful. At least, meaningful in the sense that he could draw an adorable laugh out of his dejected and dour friend. If he could do that, he could endure any number of foolish and useless memories. If he could make Rich laugh, he was content.

But like most things in their lives, it was short-lived. He knew he’d be recognized, knew he’d be seen and pointed out by these people. But for any of them to have the gall to come to him and say something? No, he didn’t expect that. He saw them whispering behind their hands -

“Is that Jake Dillinger, from high school?”

“Yeah, I think it is! What’s he doing here?”

“Probably come to gloat about how rich he is.”

“Bastard.”

-the words of people that didn’t even know him. They were spineless, would not come to him and say half the things they thought of him to his face. They only cared to gossip. He was a conversation starter. Nothing more to them than someone they could feel superior over, thinking ‘Well he may have been cool and had a bright future, but at least I’m nice and don’t judge people!’ Superficial bullshit. All of it.

But Madeline had sought him out that day. She was the last girl (besides Chloe, but that was complicated) that had been victim to one of his sexual conquests in high school. The last girl he wined and dined and forgot about once he decided that she couldn’t fill the void. None of them ever filled the void. He only realized that when his house burned to the ground. He staved off girls, then, until he met Gemma. And it all only went south from there. Madeline had cause to resent him, even after all these years. Even though she probably did the same thing, hopping from sweaty teenage boy to sweaty teenage boy, getting her cheap thrills in the form of late nights bouncing up and down on some guy she’d probably exchanged no more than ten words to while he played slow sex jams on the radio of his mom’s car. It was miserable, living that kind of life. Sure, kids like Jeremy and Michael probably had it a lot harder because kids were as ruthless as they were judgmental, but there was pain in being beloved, too. A different kind of pain, a sad, empty pain. The pain of being everything to everyone at one educational facility, then four years later being no more than a lonely pretty boy at a different one. They were one in the same, the only difference being that Jake had managed to see past his rose-tinted glasses at a world with people that valued nobody but themselves. He knew it, could see it in her eyes and in the way she surveyed Rich like he was the beggar at their royal feet. Awful, every one of them.

He didn’t blame Rich for leaving. He was probably angry, Jake was, too. Still, he felt some sort of sinking feeling, the one that usually meant that things were going to get bad again. Those people that could feel the weather in their bones, that would ache when it was about to storm, he was like that but with impending despair and mutual awkwardness. He wondered if the encounter meant more to Rich than it did to himself. Probably. She looked at Jake with vindication, but looked at Rich with loathing. He wanted to call him back, wrap his arms around him and tell him that it was okay because he was here and she didn’t matter, but this wasn’t Rich’s house. This was public, the mall, and he resented himself for feeling shame in displaying his affection for Rich out in the open, but convinced himself it wasn’t because he was a bad person. Also, they still weren’t quite that close. He had to remind himself of that every minute it seemed. Every minute with hands brushing against each other like some sort of cocktease of the chaste, loving variety. He came here wanting to get Rich some new clothes with his own money. Himself, too, but Rich took priority. If he saw him wearing the same shirts he wore in junior year again, he was probably going to cry. Rich deserved so much more.

But he guessed it was an aborted mission. They left the store, Jake trailing considerably behind. He didn’t want to gamble on calling out to Rich, didn’t want to aggravate him further by drawing attention to them. He just followed in hot pursuit, his heart aching. How did it all go wrong so fast? Rich walked with his head ducked low, emerged now from his jacket despite the cold, fall weather. They’d just been so happy. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be happy for more than a night and a morning.

Trying not to let his emotions overtake him, Jake jogged to keep up, rehearsing what he’d say to Rich when he felt ready to speak again, whenever that would be. He was used to uncomfortable silences by this point, and he knew the last thing Rich liked doing in times of stress was talk. He hoped, at the very least, his new living situation wouldn’t be affected. Maybe that was selfish, to just think of where he’d be sleeping that night rather than of his friend’s fractured self-worth. But they’d both been through worse. This couldn’t have meant so much to Rich that it was permanently damaging, could it? He’d gone through worse than this, right? A voice told him to be more empathetic, not just for his relationship for Rich but for Rich himself. But he was clearly lacking in understanding. To him, it was just an annoying encounter with a girl he’d all but forgotten about. For Rich, it was probably much more. He just didn’t know what.

He caught up to Rich’s side. The man’s pupils were blown and his lips were pulled together into a tight line. Red patches of color joined the burn scars on his face and painted him red and white all over. His chest heaved, and Jake didn’t know if it was because of their disastrous outing or how fast he was walking. He wasn’t well versed on this, but he guessed this was what they called a panic attack. Anxiety attack? Fuck, he was lost. When wasn’t he? He cleared his throat once, as if to speak, but didn’t. Just speed-walked with Rich down the path they’d followed from his house.

Almost halfway to their destination, Rich began to cough. Normally, quietly at first, then delving into a full-on fit, wheezing harshly as spit trailed down his jaw and chin. He was overexerting himself. Jake knew already. In the early days of his adulthood, he too would try and do things that he could once accomplish without issue, only to find that his lungs would soon begin to stutter and he’d be thrown into a coughing spell much quicker than he would’ve before. It was painful, physically and mentally. Smoke inhalation, no doubt. Smoke from the fire that burned both his house and his relationship with his best friend. Even as Rich wheezed, he kept walking, stumbling on the concrete road, now relatively empty of human life. Everyone was at work. Jake furrowed his brow as the smaller man continued towards his destination despite his pain. Wanting no more of it, he boldly caught up to Rich again and put a broad hand on the man’s chest, effectively halting him.

“Let me-“ he said between coughs. “Le- get off.” His voice seemed irritated, frustrated. Jake couldn’t blame him. About six months after the fire, Jake was cleared to participate in sports again. He got on the school football field for practice on the first day, and had to stop because he was hacking up lungs, coughing long and rough like a smoker or an asthmatic. The coach told him to take a break, and he did. For the rest of his life. He never played football again. He was unbelievably angry, the rage of betrayal and inability still festering within him so soon after the catastrophe. He still held Rich in contempt, and felt more alone than he ever had after ostracizing himself from his friends and extracurriculars, the only things keeping him away from a world of silence and woe for his absent parents and empty feelings. The day of his coughing fit, he went to the hotel he was occupying while he waited for his parents to return and sort out his living situation and instinctively dialed a number he’d long since deleted from his cell phone. It took until the moment Rich picked up the other end and said a sickeningly hopeful “Hello?” for Jake to realize his mistake and hang up. He understood the frustration of being helpless to circumstance, and denying help and goodwill in favor of suffering in recluse. Jake would not allow for either of them to suffer like they had been for seventeen years. That was the last chapter in their lives, this was the new one. He hoped.

“Just take a break, we’ll keep going once you’ve stopped.” He said, regulating his voice into the best calm, comforting tone he could manage. He was still rusty on his comforting abilities. He could feel Rich’s chest expand and recede rapidly under his hand, his heart stuttering with both exertion and a hopefully dying panic attack. If anyone could see them, they’d probably be sorely confused as to what two grown men were doing on the sidewalk, one behind the other with an open palm on his chest. When Rich stopped his hacking, he squirmed away from Jake’s hands and continued his walk at a noticeably slower pace, and Jake followed. Had he screwed up? The energy between them sure pointed to it. Maybe that was all he was good at without sports, without his lungs. Dumb jock. Stupid, stupid jock that thought he’d make it far in life just because he knew how to toss a ball around. What a mess.

They bridged the last bit of gap between Rich’s house and downtown in silence, as expected. Jake figured he’d be able to calm his friend down, share in his suffering along the way by throwing a few cold-hearted jabs towards a woman they’d probably never see again, but their journey was over before he could manage them. He was bad at this. Dumb husband, dumb jock, dumb friend, dumb everything. The voices in his head seemed to be fine at least. He tuned them out and jogged ahead and opened the door for Rich. The smaller man looked down with his face pulled into a line and his eyebrows furrowed, but did not enter.

“Go in,” Rich demanded, speaking with all the air of a wild dog about to bite. Jake furrowed his eyebrows to match Rich’s, equally the stubborn man as his friend. Were they even friends? What the fuck did he do that would’ve ended their friendship? Rich was practically clawing at his pant leg not to go the other day. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Gemma. No. No matter how stubborn Rich was being, he’d never let her corrupt the image of him. He metaphorically and literally dug his feet in and continued to hold the door open, letting out the warm air.

“After you,” he said stiffly. He hated how they sounded more like business rivals than friends at that moment. Rich sneered, mouth turning up into a bitter smile and finally looking up at Jake. His hazel eyes looked wounded but his expression looked ready to wound.

“I don’t need you to do that.”

“I want to do it. I’m being polite.”

Rich grabbed Jake’s arm, squeezing. “I’m not a _fucking_ damsel, Jake. I don’t need you to do things for me.”

Jake shook him off, his grip on the door knob strong enough to dig into his palm. “Why are you being like this? It’s polite to hold doors for people, do you think I don’t know you’re capable of opening a door on your own?” He hated how his voice raised in pitch, like he was having another torrid argument with...no, damn it. Not her.

Rich let go and Jake could see the hint of tears in his eyes. They couldn’t have been falling apart this early. They just couldn’t have. “Fuck off, man.” And with that, he finally relented and entered the door. God, Jake wanted to erase this day. He wanted to go back to sleeping on the couch with his former best friend. He wanted to go back to not being able to remember Madeline’s face. He wanted to go back to high school. He wanted to rush into that hospital room despite his broken legs and pull Rich into his arms despite his burns and tell him that it was okay, the fire didn’t matter, he loved him and they would be happy now because disaster brings people closer, and why weren’t they close, why couldn’t they just be fucking close? He rushed into the door behind him, Rich was standing in the kitchen doorway looking at the sink and all the clean dishes with his hands on his forearms. In the Lifetime movies, here was where he’d take Rich, spin him around and kiss him passionately, and they’d cry and it’d be resolved and they could continue. But his life wasn’t a Lifetime movie. It wasn’t even a cheap grocery store romance novel that middle-aged single mothers read after their kids went to bed to get them through the crippling loneliness. Because this was the loneliest story in the world, and it was one hundred percent real. He stood behind Rich in the border between the living room and the kitchen, piled with testaments to his friend’s misery, the misery he caused. If empty beer bottles could talk, they’d tell him what he already knew. Rich Goranski had a shit life. And Jake Dillinger couldn’t fix it because his life was equally if not less obviously shitty.

“Talk to me, just,” he inhaled through his teeth, bracing his hands in his chocolate brown hair. “Talk to me. Please.” If only Jeremy and Michael had never left. They could’ve spent the day talking instead of going to the mall and getting each other’s hopes up. If only. He was sick of “if only”.

Rich sighed and mirrored Jake’s actions though he could not see them, wringing a single hair into his hair.

“It’s nothing. I’ll get over it,” He replied, turning to brace himself on the counter beside him.

“No.”

Rich looked up from where his hazel eyes had become fixated on his white knuckles. Clearly not expecting Jake to refute this with him, he simply stared, expressionless, as if waiting for himself to understand how he’d respond to that. Jake didn’t quite know what he meant himself. “No” what? No, he wouldn’t let him get over it? Or no, Jake was sick and fucking tired of both of them thinking they could just handle this shit in passing. That the things that traumatized them would be fixed by a promise to just “get over it” when they both knew that they didn’t know how to get over it and that they shouldn’t even have to get over it in the first place. This was not high school. This was not an injury from sports that you could just walk off and keep playing. They’d been deeply, severely damaged, and even though things that seemed inconsequential like a meeting with some girl they’d both forgotten, everything dug its way into them and added to their miseries.

“I am done fucking letting you do this,” the taller man gritted his teeth and imposed in a way that seemed to make Rich cower. He backed off, but did not waver in anything, not in the fire in his eyes nor the determined bite in his voice. “This can’t, this _won’t_ work if we don’t just talk. And not talk as-as in the way we’ve been doing where we, we just let everything build up to a climax until we’re crying and hugging each other, because that’s-we...” he inhaled a shaky breath. Day three. This was a fucking mess. Rich look stunned, though the words Jake spoke were not untrue and they both knew they knew that.

“I-,” Rich started, biting his lip and seemingly forcing tears to recede back into his eyes. It didn’t work, and even if he did, Jake still knew every tell on his best friend’s face, especially when he was holding back. “Okay.”

Jake stared. He expected some kind of fight. Rich, with his head hung low, led Jake to the couch by a single pinky entangled in his own, like schoolchildren dragging each other away under the playground slides to tell each other secrets.

“Let’s talk, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter coming right after this one because i’m an idiot and forgot that I never put this chapter up and made you guys wait so long.  
> But yeah, back for now. More notes in the next chapter as far as update expectancy and why I’m such a piece of shit with updating.  
> I’m Starvom on tumblr, comments are always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo okay so  
> Im pretty excited about this, it's the first serious multi-chapter fic I've written in a long time and it's my first work on this site period. Im scared buut I really hope someone can pull some enjoyment out of this self-indulgent angst fest.  
> Poor jakey d :-( it's okay he'll get better as the story progresses  
> If you'd like to talk to the author, I'm starvom on tumblr, but once i get writing again, i'd like to make a blog maybe for requests and such.  
> I also made a playlist on spotify for all the songs i used to get my inspiration for it. Think of it as a soundtrack!  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/caprinecultist/playlist/1sjQBjQnFiqjQ3NGzX7OE4?si=TSDmGfI3  
> Anyway, comments are very appreciated, i feel like i kind of rushed the plot here because i was so excited to get to the meat of the story (aka the richjake) but let me know what you think!


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